


Taking the Silver

by Nurdles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cersei's Strumpet Stomp, Daring Swordfights, Decorating by Daenerys, Did I mention humor?, Dothraki Dongs, Dragons, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Lousy food, Post ADWD, Romance, Smut, Snow Septas, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, irreverent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 160,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurdles/pseuds/Nurdles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
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</div><br/>Jamie is sentenced by Queen Daenerys to "Take the Silver" for killing the mad king. Taking the Silver means fighting the Others in the North with Dany's army, something he and Brienne were already doing before he was arrested. But now that he and Brienne are stuck in KIng's Landing for a while, maybe the time has come to let her know how he feels. Between Cersei also being readied to go North and fight, Tyrion with his inappropriate humor and Queen Daenaerys' demands and truly terrible decorating choices, will things ever go smoothly for them? Humor, romance, adventure and danger ensue. Plus, everything is better with dragons!
            </blockquote>





	1. Daenerys

Daenerys sat upon the iron throne, her royal bottom cushioned by a velvet pillow stuffed with the softest of downy feathers plucked from northern Ice Geese. Sometimes called Stark Swans for their roosting territory in the heart of the cold north, some had joked that with the diminished power of the Starks in the world they should replace their Direwolf sigil with a Stark Swan. A few even suggested that In concert with a sigil change their motto “Winter is Coming” ought to be changed to “Breakfast is Coming” (due to the legendary size of Ice Goose eggs), or the more cruel but succinct “We Laid an Egg.”

Whatever the case, with most of the Starks gone and only Sansa left to re-build Winterfell, the fowl that lived in the North were a lesser concern than the wights and white walkers that it was now exporting. The terrors of winter had come and they were headed south, slowed only by valiant soldiers holding them back with fire, dragon glass and cold steel.

Daenerys knew that her newly won throne would not be worth ruling from if the tide was not halted or repelled soon. She also knew many expected her to employ her dragons in defense of the realm. This was something to be considered with care, for as much as she enjoyed being the mother of the people, being mother to her dragons was somewhat closer to her heart. Until she was sure that the rumored ice dragons could be safely vanquished by fire she was unwilling to risk the only three dragons known to exist. Winter would _eventually_ end, wouldn’t it?

For now she must get her Kingdom in order, and that meant dealing with past wrongs to her family and more present threats to her rule. Which was why at this moment the great hall was filled with the most influential, favored, and/or least trusted people of Westeros, all awaiting an event nearly as salacious as the trial of Eddard Stark and his subsequent beheading. Jaime Lannister now stood before the iron throne, chained but not broken, head bowed, yet not subservient in his bearing or expression.

Looking over the crowd Daenerys saw the Kingslayer’s whore, Brienne of Tarth, tension in every line of her, her hands opening and closing as though if she flexed them often enough the swords she had been made to surrender outside might magically appear. She really did present quite the figure there amongst the silk and embroidery covered crowd. Aside from her height and bearing, her plain leather garb, faded from what might once have been a bright blue to a worn grey, set her apart. As did her face; the lines of her mouth were drawn down in a fierce grimace, her chin was raised defiantly, and her blue eyes were riveted on the Kingslayer. It was said that she was called Brienne the Beauty, an obvious jape due to her unattractive features. Daenerys did not see the humor in the name. Brienne’s eyes were exceptionally beautiful in color and shape, and while her features were not those of a traditional beauty, or a non-traditional one at that, Dany thought they were distinctive and intriguing. Having traveled through many lands on her way to the throne, Daenerys had seen people of many different appearances, which included people with generously plump lips, women of great height, tribes with freckles and other pigment not often seen in Westeros, along with men and women very heavily muscled, either because of their ancestry or the chores of their daily lives. Scars, too, were common everywhere, though the one on Brienne's cheek seemed fairly unusual in shape. To Daenerys, Brienne was not deserving of her epithet; she merely wondered if Brienne’s forbears got around quite a lot.

As a Targaryen this was an interesting question, since the Targaryen line was kept quite pure through not breeding outside the family. Aside from that little incident with Rhaegar, it was unheard of to cleave to someone not silver of hair and lavender of eye. This was also why the question of the Kingslayer’s fathering with his sister of the last two kings to sit the throne was of little concern to her. To be honest, the thought that Robert Baratheon, pretender to the throne, had been cuckolded by his wife was a delicious little bit of retribution.

Jaime Lannister was here to answer for killing her father, King Aegon Targaryen. Dany had never known her father, but even as far away as Pentos, where she and her over-reaching brother had lived while awaiting the opportunity to regain the throne, people spoke of “Mad King Aerys”. Whispered it, really, when she or her brother were about. As king, didn’t he have the right to be mad? Certainly her departed brother was often mad at the smallest things. She recalled that he once became enraged over soggy noodles and threatened to tweak the nipples of a serving woman for it. He was awfully fond of tweaking when he was in a poor humor. Good thing she was never betrothed to him, she thought with a little shiver. Now this Lannister fellow, she could see a sister wedding and bedding him with no hesitation at all. But the Kingslayer was not a king, and one only became a queen by marrying one or de-throning one. In this instance, she almost felt sorry for the sullen and slutty Cersei Baratheon, former queen and up next in her procession of prisoners.

Schooling her features to appear stern and hopefully less inexperienced at sitting a throne, Daenerys nodded to Missandei, her speaker, to begin the trial.

“Jaime Lannister, known as Kingslayer, member of the King’s guard, you will answer before this throne for the death of King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name. Do you deny that it was by your hand that the rightful king died?”

There were titters throughout the room as people were reminded that Jaime no longer had the hand in question. Even Jaime might have smirked, though it could just be a nervous twitch under his overgrown beard. Brienne did not react, except to draw in a long breath and flick her eyes up to Missandei.

Jaime raised his head, looked Queen Danaerys in the eye and said in a carrying voice, “That is true.” No one had expected him to deny it. Many present wondered why the new queen hadn’t simply taken his head to decorate one of the spikes around the Red Keep.

The queen nodded again to Missandei who said “King Aerys Targaryen’s daughter, Queen Danaerys Targaryen, second of her name and Queen of the Andals and the First Men, seeks to know why you committed this treason.”

Jaime Lannister did grin then, and asked “If I answer well will she release me? I’ve had enough of being in chains for a lifetime.” He rattled the chains that hung from his left wrist and were also tightly clamped above his right elbow. “I’m not asking for a Stark Swan pillow or anything, but I do promise never to do it again.”

The great hall erupted in a confused mixture of outrage with scattered guffaws quickly converted into coughing fits. Daenerys spoke quickly and coldly “Kingslayer you are called, and you have laid claim to that name before this hall. Your punishment is in my hands. You will tell me of my father’s death.”

At this Jaime turned slowly, looking in the crowd for Brienne. When he found her he raised his eyebrows at her in question and she mouthed “Tell her!” her eyes widening in exasperation and fear. So Jaime began: he told of King Aerys’ madness for fire, his lust for torture, his plan to cook King’s Landing with caches of wild fire. “I am sorry to say, your Grace, that slaying your father may have been my finest act. I took no pleasure in it and I have taken no pride in it. This is only the second time I have ever spoken the truth of King Aerys. The first time was to the Maid of Tarth after I lost the hand that slew your father.”

“Why did you speak of it to her? Why not before then, or even afterwards, when you might have found favor for your ‘deed’?”

“I trusted Brienne then as I do now, and I’ve been spilling my guts to her ever since. Also,” he paused and lowered his voice “I felt my own death might be at hand.” More titters. _What is so_ funny _about amputation_ , thought Daenerys.

“So, ‘Mad’ King Aerys? You are telling me he was crazy, that his mind was broken?”

“He was not just grumpy, your Grace.”

Daenerys suppressed a smile of her own. Her brother had been both grumpy and crazy. The ember does not land far from the fire, she thought.

With a graceful wave of her hand she said airily, “All Targaryens are somewhat mad for fire.” and allowed that to sink in with her new subjects. “Fortunately, I do not have to resort to wild fire, nor secrecy. I have dragons.”

In the great hall there seemed to be a collective holding of breath. This new queen, this pretty, petite, dangerous queen, had them all straining forward to hear what she intended with such an inflammatory statement. Daenerys was not inclined to relieve their curiosity. Let them wonder, let them fear. Too bad her dragons had grown too big to be in the hall with her, it would have been very satisfying to have some of her larger unsullied fling a sheep into the air so they could watch Drogon catch it in his mouth and swallow it whole. She had been trying to train him to roast it with fire as it flew through the air for a more terrifying display, but alas the only time he had got it right the still flaming sheep had seared his throat and given him an awful case of flame reflux. Drogon was never docile even with his mother, and after that he had been surly for days.

The queen let them stew for a moment as she studied Ser Jaime. Even with his missing hand he was quite an attractive man. Not in comparison to her sun and stars Drogo, but certainly far more appealing than her other husband Hizdahr, who was out kissed by a fish. As Jaime stood before her awaiting her judgment she had the leisure to study him: his winter darkened golden hair, his untrimmed beard, his compelling green eyes, which studied her just as avidly, if not for the same reasons. She knew she should allow Ser Barristan, who stood with utmost dignity and patience behind her throne, to execute his fellow member of the old King’s Guard. She also knew that Ser Jorah in his secret jealousy of any man he suspected of catching her eye would be delighted to take on that duty as well. Poor Ser Jorah, perhaps she could find him a high maintenance wife to keep him busy and take his mind off of his obsession with her. For a strong and capable man he could just be so _needy_ in his infatuation.

No one in the crowd could have suspected how Dany’s mind had wandered for just a moment, but she was still a young woman for all of her accomplishments and power. Back to the matter at hand, she glanced up at Brienne, who was stolidly staring at her now instead of at her rumored and possibly doomed lover. Such an interesting pair, and the stories and even songs made about them had reached her ears even as she made her way to the seven kingdoms. Daenerys wondered if any of them were true. That story about the bear had bard blather written all over it. Would a crippled man on his way to freedom really go back to rescue a woman he hardly knew from a big bear in a pit? And without a weapon other than his own diminished value to the hand of the king? But he had said he trusted the tall woman, and perhaps there was more to the tale. Was it a romance for the ages or was the affection one-sided as it was with her and Jorah Mormont? An intriguing question and one that caught at whatever romance hadn’t been burned from her heart along with Drogo.

Dany glanced to the far side of the dais where the Kingslayer’s brother stood suppressing any emotion he felt at his brother’s trial. She had grown very fond of Tyrion and felt for him as he stood apart from his family and their crimes.

Daenerys gestured to Missandei, who addressed the hall, “The Queen has made her decision regarding Ser Jaime Lannister, known as Goldenhand and Kingslayer.”

After discreetly making sure none of her garments were snagged on the prickly parts of the iron throne, Queen Daenerys stood, Sers Jorah and Barristan moving forward to flank her.

“Jaime Lannister, you are sentenced to take the Silver. You will be sent to fight the threat coming from the north. You will face almost certain death in defending my realm. In this way you will pay for your crimes and either perish or win your redemption.”

Smoothly Missandei intoned “Taking the Silver, named for the silver hair of the true Targaryen rulers, is distinguished by a commitment to combat whatever forces seek to harm the seven kingdoms and rule of the Targaryen dynasty. The appointment is for life, and the punishment for abandonment of the duties required is death. Those who have taken the silver may be known by their sigil, a silver dragon rampant on a purple field. We do not ask that you be willing to give your life if needed in service, we demand it. “Missandei paused at this point, knowing that even though everyone present had heard the terms of Taking the Silver before, this point provided drama and emphasis. She continued, “Unlike the so-called crows of the wall, we do not require your celibacy. We would not have our warriors neutered in spirit as our unsullied were in body. Those who hold lands and titles will give over those possessions to the crown, to be held in trust for times of peace. In this way those who may consider themselves too grand to serve with lesser men and women may be motivated to strive to regain those lands in time through exemplary service and sacrifice.”

Into the brief silence Brienne could be heard to gasp in relief at this reprieve. Jaime himself seemed to be struggling not to roll his eyes. “You may speak,” Missandei told him.

“This I will willingly do, for I was in the north already fighting the wights and white walkers when I was seized and brought to trial.”

“ _Jaime!_ ” Brienne hissed behind him. Clearly _she_ had more sense than to bait the queen who had just sentenced the Kingslayer, and leniently at that. Jaime did not look chagrinned in the least, he bit his lip to hold back a little smile, whether pleased at Brienne’s concern or feeling too clever for his own good Daenerys did not know. She narrowed her eyes at him and did not give him the satisfaction of a reply. She settled gracefully back onto the throne.

“Remove his chains but return him to his cell.” She said, with a little thrust of her chin at the Unsullied ranged around him. His arms were grasped by the soldiers and they turned him around to make his way through the crowd. Their path took them past Brienne, who looked down at him as he deliberately brushed up against her in passing.

“Idiot.” She said, but a small smile curved her mouth and a dimple appeared in her un-marred cheek.  She looked as though she might trail after the Unsullied leading Jaime out when Missandei again began to speak.

“Bring forth Cersei Lannister Baratheon!”

Brienne stilled and turned back to the face the throne, a curious glint in her eye.

Cersei was brought out in chains as well. For all that she had been disgraced and shorn not so long ago, Cersei entered with her dignity intact, her hair short but perfectly framing her small face, and her expression secure in knowing every eye would be drinking in her renowned beauty. _How_ , thought Daenerys, _could a woman seem to make chains a fashion choice_? Cersei did not smile, for hers was not a face for pleasing expressions when confronted by another woman, or by most men for that matter. _I could learn from this woman_ , thought Dany, before she thrust the thought away. Still, Cersei had the queenly experience that Daenerys lacked and in a way she admired her spirit.

Glancing up at Brienne, Dany caught her brief flash of annoyance at seeing Cersei seemingly unaffected by her imprisonment.

Cersei, seeing that she had the attention of the court, dropped a perfect curtsy to the new queen, a curtsy so calculated as to not give offense yet not give satisfaction either. _I wonder if she practiced that in her cell_ Dany thought with a little smile, _let’s see how she likes what I have planned_.

“Cersei Lannister Baratheon you are brought before her Grace, Queen Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the seven Kingdoms, as a former queen and queen regent, to formally relinquish the titles and privledges that were yours during and after the false reign of Robert Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon and Tommen Baratheon.”

Cersei’s expression did not change, but somehow the room, already too cool even with all of the huge braziers lit, seemed to drop in temperature by several degrees.

Missandei continued “You are not formally accused of any crime, as the crown does not recognize treasons to a pretender to the throne. In her mercy Queen Daenerys will spare your life, but you will never again pretend to a higher station than you should have had. Nor will you be able to claim the station you relinquished, that of Lady Lannister, daughter to Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock.” Cersei’s eyelids may have lowered a bit at that, but as she appeared bored by the proceedings she could merely be feigning an urge to sleep.

“You will henceforth be known only as Cersei Waters and your station will be servant to the assistant of the royal cook.” At this a horrified gasp was heard in the audience, presumably from the head cook, though it might have come from Varys, who loved his food and knew of the lady’s penchant for poison.

Missandei glanced at Daenerys for any further word and was waved on to continue. “You have permission to speak before your Queen.”

Cersei’s expressive eyebrows drew down in fury over her sparking eyes as she said in a low, haughty voice “A servant? To an assistant? Of a _cook_? I’d sooner take the silver.”

Daenerys laughed delightedly, “Done!” she said, turning to smile at her knights, “Ser Barristan, see that Cersei is outfitted in armor and given some instruction in using a sword. She will be leaving with the next unit of Silvers in a fortnight.”

Barristan’s face lit with glee as he spoke from his place behind Daenerys, “Though she may be a little _old_ to learn, it would be my pleasure to see to her readiness for the campaign."


	2. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gave Jaime’s bed an arch look, as if in appraisal. “It is generous of you to offer, but you must realize that my own bed in the Maidenvault is twice as big and thrice as comfortable. It is also nice and warm,” she taunted with a shiver as a frigid breeze came through the uncovered window.
> 
> This chapter is from Brienne's POV.

Jaime had been moved from the second level of the dungeons to a more comfortable cell in the towers of Traitor’s Walk. He had been allowed some liberty in moving about King’s Landing, but was kept within sight by a pair of large Dothraki guards. As Brienne made her way up the steps of the tower to see Jaime she cringed to see the Arakhs they wore, thinking that if Daenerys wanted to remind Jaime of his vulnerability then being guarded with curved swords like the one that had severed his hand would be very effective.

Brienne felt a lightness as she ascended the steps that she hadn’t felt since Jaime had been captured and brought back to King’s Landing for his trial. So many times she had faced losing him and her relief whenever he emerged alive from that which seemed certain to kill him always left her temporarily dizzy and feeling like together they were invincible. Even the thought that Cersei would be joining them as they made their way back north couldn’t dampen her sprits.

Jaime’s cell door was ajar, and she could see him within, shirtless as he stared out the tall, narrow window. Surely he had heard her on the steps, but he stayed still at the window, breathing a little fast but seeming very composed. Was he watching for Cersei? Could he see the training yard from here? Brienne felt a small catch in her breath. She took in his broad shoulders, his shining hair and his right arm that was raised to rest alongside the window. He was not wearing his silly gold hand, thank the gods. The sight of his unadorned stump always made her feel ridiculously protective of him, as if that part of Jaime was hers and hers alone. Maybe because it was the part of him Cersei had rejected when he had returned to King’s Landing after his maiming, or perhaps because Brienne had seen to it that he lived through the making of it. Brienne shook her head slightly to clear her sentimental thoughts and said quietly “Jaime? Do you mind if I come in?”

Jaime turned from the window suppressing a smile. Maybe he _could_ see Cersei in the yard? But no, this was just his smile for her, almost mocking but with an affection behind it that let her know that however he might tease her and try her she was still his closest friend. _His friend_. Gods how she hated those words sometimes as they rang through her head over and over. She returned his smile, giving him the same: a friendly smile, though one tinged with relief. They had spoken only briefly since his trial, but this was the first time she had seen him alone.

“You’ve taken your time coming to see me, Wench,” he said, “have you been too busy advising my brother on the coming campaign to visit me in my comfortable quarters? As you can see the bed is small and hard, but we could make it work.” His smile deepened as he watched her furrow her brow at him and attempt to look affronted. It was true that they had been sharing a bed roll for a long time, ever since he had joined her on her quest for Sansa Stark, and after they had returned the girl to the ruined splendor of Winterfell the habit had continued. Brienne had briefly tried to put a stop to it, but his very convincing arguments in its favor and her weakness of will when it came to being near Jaime had been enough to end any resistance. Besides, it was just sharing each other’s warmth in these short frigid days, the only respite they had from battling the undead. It was _friendly_. How ironic that her relationship with Jaime was so like that of a sister, while his relationship with his sister had been anything but.

_Had_ been, right?

Their dark days together often involved a lot of talking as they huddled together to stave off the cold, so they had come to know each other well. Brienne was fairly certain that Cersei’s hold on Jaime had faded along with the scars where he had lost his hand. He would always carry the experience, but it would no longer define his life. But now, confronted with not only Cersei’s beauty and their history together, the woman would also be with them, living in _their_ world. Some of Brienne’s triumph in thinking of what Cersei was in for going on campaign was shaken as she contemplated losing the bond she and Jaime shared.

Brienne gave Jaime’s bed an arch look, as if in appraisal. “It is generous of you to offer, but you must realize that my own bed in the Maidenvault is twice as big and thrice as comfortable. It is also nice and _warm_ ,” she taunted with a shiver as a frigid breeze came through the uncovered window.

“They put you in the _Maiden_ vault?” Jaime asked incredulously, “The Kingslayer’s whore? Brienne the Brazen, breaker of hearts and heads? The Tart of Tarth, the Babe of…” Brienne punched his shoulder, not gently, before he could continue with the long list of names he liked to tease her with.

“Yes, the Maidenvault, no thanks to you.” Brienne told him. “Could you have _not_ told those Dothraki guards that you were unable to sleep without me? You know what little gossips they are: ‘ _Sheeth givingth up moreth than thappierth to the Kingthlayer_ ,’” she mimicked, sounding so like Vargo Hoat that Jaime laughed out loud.

“Was your great dignity compromised, Wench? What do you care what they think?” His green eyes were alight with humor and even though he might expect her to hit him again he did not back away from her.

“I _don’t_ care,” she answered with asperity, “I grew tired of being called the Maid of Tarth long ago. I am too old and too jaded to be flaunting such a title, whether or not it is true. I simply do not care for the speculation of the entire populace of King’s Landing about my reputation.”

“What about my reputation?” Jaime sputtered in mock outrage, “No wonder the ladies wink at me like I’m cheap goods, theirs for the right price!” He laid his head against her shoulder and looked up through his lashes at her. She knew what was coming and had to restrain the urge to flick his ear with her fingers. “When are you going to make an honest man of me, Brienne of Tarth?”

Brienne was a little relieved that their ongoing banter had not changed, at least not yet. Would it hold when Cersei was there to witness it? She wasn’t sure she could bear it if he stopped trying to annoy her. An ex-lover could tend to come between friends. Brienne drew her fingers through Jaime’s hair in order to lift his head off her shoulder. For half a heartbeat he looked up into her eyes and her heart ceased to beat for that instant, resuming again in that out of kilter flutter he sometimes caused. _Damn him, and damn me for wanting him_ , she thought.

He chewed his bottom lip briefly as he leaned away from her and then picked up the new tunic he had been about to put on right before she arrived. He held it out with his left hand for her inspection. “Behold, the silver dragon rampant!” he said, showing her the new sigil he would be wearing. She was disappointed to find the coat of arms for the Silver was not sewn to a lavender colored tunic. Brienne had looked forward to teasing him about wearing such a girly color. Oh, well.

“Put it on then and we’ll go see about something to eat.” Brienne said, “such a shame we won’t be sampling Cersei’s cooking. She would have made a wonderful kitchen maid.” Brienne knew she was poking around a potentially prickly subject, but Jaime just chuckled.

“If Cersei were anywhere near the kitchen we would be out in the stables ringing a chicken’s neck for our dinner.” He gestured with the tunic at her and she quickly set it over his head so he could shrug into it. Brienne swept up his new cloak, which in the right light might have a purple tint to it, and settled it over his shoulders. He reached out and snugged her own cloak over her right shoulder and held out his right arm to her. She took it.

 

As they entered the dining hall all eyes turned to them; Brienne was used to being stared at, but she ducked her head a little anyway. She was glad she had changed into her soft brown suede tunic and trousers and taken the time to brush out her hair, so much longer now than it had been back when she had taken service with Lady Catelyn. Occasionally she found it a nuisance when she had to bind it at her neck before donning her helm, but it kept her neck warm, and though she would never admit it she liked the feel of Jaime’s breath in it when he lay against her back in their bed roll, speaking of anything that came to mind. The man could talk forever it seemed, and she often drifted off to the sound of his voice. It was one of her favorite things in this bleak and dangerous winter world, and she could face fighting the Others through the long night knowing Jaime would talk her to sleep when they lay down together in the murky hours of daylight.

Being the subject of derision and stares never seemed to bother Jaime. As they entered arm in arm she could swear he seemed almost proud. He had just cheated death again after all, indomitable as ever.

Varys gestured at them from a table near the left wall and even though Jaime growled low in his throat he led them to the former advisor. “Not the Spider,” Brienne whispered under her breath, “Have we not dealt with bulbous, useless spiders enough in the north?”

“Unlike an ice spider Varys is not so easily vanquished with dragon glass,” Jaime suggested, “though whether a White Walker would like to ride him I cannot say.”

Brienne was saved from replying as they arrived at the table of the man, his plumpness filling his silks like a river-swollen corpse. Brienne almost squinted against the brightly colored fabric Varys swathed himself in. The winter sun could not compete against such a display.

“Do try the onion stew,” Varys told them eagerly “I am told that Cersei was allowed nowhere near it.” If Jaime was bothered by the continued jests about his sister he did not show it. “I understand our former Queen regent has been practicing out in the yards with some of the squires.” Varys whispered conspiratorially.

“They should be safe enough playing at swords with her,” Jaime said lightly, “Her tongue was always sharper than even Valyrian steel.”

Brienne glanced at him in disbelief. This was his second jape at Cersei’s expense, but rather than putting her at ease it made her nervous. While he had never hesitated to speak of Cersei it was rarely in a humorous vein. Was he covering some sort of unease about being thrown together with his sister again? Perhaps he was afraid he would not be able to hold onto his resolve against her. Brienne knew he sometimes hid behind humor when his feelings were too close to the surface.

Ser Barristan had asked Brienne is she could take over some of Cersei’s battle training, but she had not mentioned it to Jaime yet. The older knight had thought that Brienne might be able to address the differences between the techniques of male and female fighters, differences he was certain he was not qualified to work with. Brienne supposed as much as he relished teaching Cersei a lesson, watching her spar with a superior fighter, a supposed romantic rival, would be even more satisfying. Brienne doubted Cersei saw her as a human being, much less a rival, but she would do as she had been asked and teach her some basic techniques for fighting the Others. It was almost in her to pity Jaime’s former lover, going into the harsh wilderness after a lifetime of ease.

_Almost_.

Servants brought trenchers of food to the table for them. Both Jaime and Brienne turned down the onion soup. They would be forced to eat onions aplenty in camp.

“May I join you?” said a courteous voice from behind Brienne. She looked up and was a little surprised to see Loras Tyrell. Varys moved aside and Jaime gestured for him to sit. Brienne had seen little of Loras over the years, but her discomfort around him had never eased. She accepted now that he had been Renly’s lover, and he had accepted that she did not kill Renly, but on the rare occasions their paths crossed they tended to keep their distance from each other. Loras looked lovely as always, and Brienne had the sour thought that while she could best him in combat he was still prettier than her and more able to get the guy. She had long ago realized her infatuation with Renly had been somewhat girlish, that in her youthful naiveté she had fallen for a man who was unattainable in so many ways. It was not just that he was handsome and a king, but that deep down she had recognized how unthreatening his somewhat effeminate tendencies were; quite safe for an inexperienced and insecure girl to throw her heart at. She had come to know that having a mad crush on a man capable of loving a woman, just not her, was much more painful.

Jaime had never tired of teasing her about fancying Renly, or in fact any man he guessed was especially disinterested in the company of women. Now he bumped her thigh with his own and gave her a cheeky grin when Loras wasn’t looking. She rolled her eyes at him and dipped her bread through the grease pooling in her trencher, not joining in when Jaime and Loras exchanged greetings. Loras would be going with them on their journey north, having only recently returned from fighting the Others as well. They had not been defending the same areas, but now under Tyrion’s command they would be combining forces to prevent the White Walkers and Wights from lurching further south.

Varys tried valiantly to remain in the conversation as it went out of his league with discussions of the best materials to use when burning the undead and recently dead, and which sword cuts could incapacitate a White Walker long enough to torch them. He seemed a little pouty that Jaime had Loras’ full attention and for a moment she found this amusing. Then she thought to watch Loras and decided maybe she didn’t like his focus on Jaime either. Would she and Loras ever not be attracted to the same man?

She sighed and took a gulp of her wine, a beverage she had come to appreciate in limited amounts for its ability to calm and relax her in awkward or stressful situations. She could not claim any knowledge about vintages, but as the wine rolled about on her tongue Brienne found she liked it much better than the sour stuff they had been drinking when they camped, or on the rare occasions when they able to find a tavern to pass the night in. As she let the wine rest in her mouth a moment before swallowing she thought she tasted a little bit of purple plum like those that grew on Tarth, and, was that? Yes, a hint of vanilla bean, a rare treat. This wine was like a taste of summer, and the spreading warmth of that thought had her thinking wistfully of home and whether she would ever see another summer there.

She was glancing around at Daenerys’ attempts to re-Targaryen the dining hall with the traditional red and black of the family crest along with her colors for the Silver (did the new Queen realize how poorly purple and red mixed?). She was admiring the artfully arranged smallish dragon skulls on the walls when she heard Jaime guffaw loudly and Loras give a happy little chuckle. Her eyes cut to them and their sparkling eyes…were they _flirting_? Even Varys seemed strangely pleased. She really needed to get out more.She took another mouthful of the wine.

Later she walked with Jaime back to his cell, followed at a distance by the Dothraki guards. Brienne stumbled a little over nothing at all and Jaime offered her his arm. “Are you drunk, my lady?” he asked cheerfully. Did he sound a little hopeful? No, that was just muddled thinking, though she wouldn’t put it past him to enjoy having another excuse to tease her.

“I am not.” She said with measured dignity. Oh, gods, was she? Brienne refused the offered arm and tried to get back into her no nonsense stride, but she wobbled a little. Brienne of Tarth simply did not _wobble_. The harder she tried to regain her dignity the more it fled from her and she felt her face flaming from the wine and embarrassment. Jaime had seen her over the years in sickness and pain, in elation when they rescued Sansa, in agonized shyness the first couple dozen times she woke up next to him, but she had only drunk too much around him a couple of times and he always made as much of her befuddled state as he could.

“Do I need to carry you, lass?” he said in mock sympathy. “I’m man enough to do it.”

“You are mad enough to attempt it, you mean,” she told him with a little slur.

“It would not be the first time I carried you, Wench, nor would it be the last. Remember that time the ice spider rent your thigh, or the time –“

Brienne did remember. “You are _not_ flinging me over your shoulder and carrying me. I can walk.”

“I could try to carry you like a babe in arms, if you would hold on to my shoulders,” Jaime offered.

By then they had made it to his cell, to Brienne’s great relief. She turned to go before he could be more ridiculous.

“Brienne?” she heard him say behind her.

“Yes?” she said without turning around.

She waited what seemed a long time before he said softly “Good night.” And she made her way back to the Maidenvault and her warm but empty bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods but this is fun to write! Next chapter will most likely be Jaime's POV as he watches Brienne and Cersei interact.


	3. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiled to himself remembering how silly she could get when they had reason to drink and celebrate, when they could afford to just relax without being constantly alert for danger. Jaime thought of how she would let herself giggle at his jokes, and how her eyes would get so lively and flirtatious when she stopped worrying over her dignity, forgot to feel insecure about her looks. Gods, how she would look at him then, and not look away so quickly when he looked back at her with his own heart in his eyes. 
> 
> Jaime's POV

Jaime was awoken by the sound of his own snoring. When did he get old enough to _snore_? He turned onto his other side and tried to go back to sleep. He lay for several minutes squeezing his eyes shut against the wan light coming through his window before he abruptly flung himself onto his back and threw his right arm over his eyes. It wasn’t the light keeping him awake, he knew. It was not the hard bed or even the cold. He flipped over onto his stomach, scrunching the sorry excuse for a pillow under his head as he stared at the wall. He wondered if they had Stark Swan pillows in the Maidenvault. He imagined Brienne’s peacefully sleeping face, sunk into a soft pillow, her breathing even and comforting. _She_ didn’t snore. Unless she had drunk too much, and last night she definitely had. He closed his eyes again and imagined her peacefully sleeping face, but in his mind her mouth hung slightly open over her large teeth and her breath came out in quiet little hums, almost like a cat’s purr. The longer Jaime kept this picture in his mind the more he relaxed, until, at last, he dropped off to sleep.  
  
An hour or two later he woke up again not feeling particularly refreshed, but a little better than he had. He hadn’t been lying when he told the Dothraki guards that he couldn’t get to sleep without Lady Brienne. His heart thumped a little harder when he wondered if she had had any difficulty sleeping alone in her bed in the Maidenvault. If she, too, had felt strangely incomplete without him next to her.  
  
He hoped she had gotten back there safely since she had been having a little difficulty walking straight the night before. It would have been more chivalrous to walk her back to her room, he thought now. But she hadn’t been _very_ drunk; he had seen her a good deal more inebriated than last night, and more than a few times.  
  
They had been through a lot together, good times and bad times, and sometimes they shared a drink in camp or in a tavern, if they were very lucky. He smiled to himself remembering how silly she could get when they had reason to drink and celebrate, when they could afford to just relax without being constantly alert for danger. Jaime thought of how she would let herself giggle at his jokes, and how her eyes would get so lively and flirtatious when she stopped worrying over her dignity, forgot to feel insecure about her looks. Gods, how she would look at him then, and not look away so quickly when he looked back at her with his own heart in his eyes. Jaime thought about how her limbs loosened with the alcohol until the grace he usually only saw her move with when she was wielding a sword came to her naturally, unfettered by her usual sober demeanor. He loved to see Brienne allow herself to be happy, to set aside the weight on her shoulders for just a little while.  
  
Then there were those times when things were so bad and hopeless that they both would drink too much just trying to forget the horrors they had lived through nearly every night since winter had set in. Having to set fire to the still warm corpse of a comrade in arms to prevent them rising from the dead was terrible, but not as soul crushing as having to hack to bits someone they used to know, dead eyes transformed into an eerie blue without a spark of life in them, and then afterwards to torch the bodies all the same. He and Brienne had an unspoken rule about not acknowledging later how maudlin they would become or how they would cling to each other in their sorrow and fear during those times. Jaime wasn’t sure which of them had decided they couldn’t broach what happened and how they behaved in those unguarded moments, but it had become their way not to speak of it.  
  
He wondered where Brienne was right now. Had she broken her fast? Was she closeted with his brother Tyrion helping to plan the campaign? Jaime felt a little stung that he hadn’t been invited to those councils, but the feelings between him and Tyrion were still a bit raw, and he realized that as a prisoner, even a highborn one, it would not do for him to sit in council with the new queen.  
  
Tyrion had killed their lord father after Jaime had helped him to escape the dungeons of the Red Keep, but Jaime had found he could not blame himself or Tyrion for that. In these days of unnatural evil it was difficult to forgive a man like Tywin Lannister, who had seemed to ruin lives with as little thought as a mindless wight.  
  
He knew now that Tyrion hadn’t killed his bastard son, Joffrey. The coin had flipped wrong on Joffrey, and his death had caused sorrow to few other than Cersei. His poisoning had been orchestrated by Petyr Baelish, the man who had also hidden away Sansa Stark. Baelish had flown to his death back at the Eyrie, a fate not nearly painful enough for him in Jaime’s eyes. It was Baelish who had set in motion the events that led to Brienne going on her quest to find Sansa, and without that she would have been spared what she had suffered at the hands of the Brotherhood. Jaime keenly felt his own guilt for the harms done her since he had given her that quest along with his sword, Oathkeeper.  
  
 _Too many dark thoughts for one morning_ , Jaime thought as he rose from his bed and ran his hands through his hair. He would have to see about getting a hot bath before they got back into the unremitting filth of the road and battle. He left the tower, whistling for the guards to follow him. The Dothraki’s on duty exchanged an annoyed look before following Jaime as though he was in charge.  
  
At the Maidenvault Jaime asked the chaperone guarding the entrace if Brienne of Tarth was still within her room but was informed that she had left to meet Ser Barristan not long ago. The ancient woman on duty looked Jaime up and down distastefully and began to shut the vault door. Jaime tried to give her a winning smile while keeping the door open with his left hand.  
  
“I need to speak with the Lady,” he said, “do you know where she and Ser Barristan were headed?”  
  
Unmoved, the woman shook her head briefly and made shooing motions with her wrinkled hands. _So much for the legendary charm of the Kingslayer_ , thought Jaime.  
  
He headed for the practice yards to see if she had gone there. He didn’t think she would go to spar without asking him along, but Barristan might have wanted her opinion on the variety of weapons needed for the campaign.  
  
 _Gods_ , it occurred to Jaime, _what if_ Cersei _is there_?  
  
So far he had been able to mostly avoid his sister, going so far as to bribe his guards to tell her he was not allowed visitors in Traitor’s Walk. He did not know if she had attempted to see him there, but he hoped she was as disinclined to his company as he was to hers. He had been alarmed to hear she would be taking the Silver with him, but had avoided thinking about any possible implications. Brienne did not seem concerned about it at least. He had been surprised by her little jest the other day, but it heartened him that she was not dwelling on Cersei’s presence.  
  
Jaime knew very well that Brienne and Cersei did not care for one another. Brienne had been reticent when it came to expressing her dislike, but it was clearly there. When Jaime had spoken of Cersei so often in the first several months that he and Brienne had spent looking for Sansa it had been less about the love and passion they had shared and more about the anguish of her betrayal and rejection. Brienne had been all sympathy and quiet understanding, and over time he had come to see his relationship with Cersei in a different light, or maybe it could be called an _indifferent_ light. He still spoke of Cersei from time to time, but with less bitterness and far less longing. Brienne, when she spoke of it at all, seemed to feel that Cersei lacked honor and loyalty. One time, after a few cups of a particularly potent ale, Brienne had referred to Cersei in an angry voice as a “spineless bitch” and a “horrible harpy.” At the time he wondered if Brienne might be jealous about Cersei, that just maybe she was beginning to have more than friendly feelings for him. But as he could detect no sign of romantic regard after that incident he had put it down to his own vanity and, to be honest with himself, his own barely acknowledged hope that Brienne was starting to feel for him the same pangs of infatuation he had begun to feel for her. Alas he was still chasing after that elusive spark that might show him that she felt for him what he had come to feel for her.  
  
Cersei had hated Brienne before she had ever seen or met her. His sister lived for jealousy and animosity, so when he had returned with Brienne, but without his hand, to King’s Landing, she had blistered the air with cruel names for her and for him as well. At the time he had wanted nothing more than to be back in Cersei’s arms and back in her bed, but even then his developing respect for Brienne had made him uncomfortable with Cersei’s vitriol. Of course he was used to how passionately his lover could _hate_ something or someone, but Cersei had been the only woman in his life since their mother had died, and he had known naught else. He had borne her demands and fulfilled her whims, and taken pleasure in the insular world they shared. It had seemed like it was meant to be; he had once believed that she was his and he was hers and that that would never change. For someone who was considered a man without honor and an oath breaker, he was in fact a man made to be faithful and true, and Cersei had thrown that back in his face.  
  
Jaime sighed to himself. _Still lost in dark thoughts this morning_ , and what he needed was to find Brienne and stop dwelling on his past with Cersei.  
  
He rounded the corner to the training yard, and was pleased to see Brienne just suiting up in her armor. She was adjusting the straps of the plate on her long left leg, which was held slightly bent in front of her, raised up by her toes like a dancer. Jaime stopped in the shadows to watch her suit up, something he rarely got to do as they usually both rushed to arm up before night fell.  His throat went dry as he watched her secure the top straps of the thigh guard to the strap dangling from the front of the wide leather belt that cinched in her waist. She bent lower to secure the straps holding the hinged piece near her inner thigh before moving on to the greaves. Her hair fell forward over her face as she twisted her torso to get to the straps, and he could see the flex of her calf muscles as she pointed her toes even more to raise her lower leg into an easier position to strap. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, but its rays limned her in light, outlining her figure, burning her erotic, completely un-self conscious pose into his senses. Finished with her left leg, Brienne quickly repeated the process with her right, unaware that Jaime watched her every movement in a self-indulgent daze of desire. She drew herself up and reached for her breastplate, which flowed nearly as smoothly across her chest as a man’s armor, but tapered to her waist, the fauld flairing out over her hips. Brienne quickly put on her gorget and the remaining shoulder and arm pieces and reached back to gather up her long blonde hair and secure it at her neck.  
  
Jaime quickly looked down at himself to be sure his tunic and cloak hid how aroused he was. Before she could don her helm he strode out of the shadows calling out “There’s my Wench! I’ve been looking all over for you.”  
  
Brienne turned her head to look at him, a small, dimpled smile lighting her face before an imperious voice from out of view said “How sweet. Come to watch our lessons, brother?”  
  
 _Fuuuuuuckk_.  
  
Cersei. What was the phrase he had learned from Tyrion about how quickly a man could go from rigid to retreat? Cock killer? Ball shriveler? Hearing Cersei’s voice in that instant he wasn’t sure he would be able to even find his cock when next he needed to pee.  
  
Brienne’s smile had vanished as quickly as Jaime’s desire. She took in his stricken face and her own burned with a vivid blush.  
  
Jaime turned to Cersei, who he was surprised to see was also suited up in armor, holding her little gold colored helm in the crook of her arm. He tried to shake off his shock and dismay as he said “Sister. My lady. I had not expected to find you here.”  
  
“I rather believe you were not _expecting_ to find me anywhere.” Cersei said coldly.  
  
 _Gods, she could freeze the balls off a rutting boar_ , he thought. He composed his features into a cocksure expression, pure vintage Kingslayer, and gave her a smile. “On the contrary, I had heard you would be training in preparation for taking the Silver. I merely expected you to be training with Ser Barristan the Bold.”  
  
“Ser Barristan the _Old_ , you mean. But no, he has passed me off to the Beastly Brienne, who, it is supposed, has some insight into how _women_ should fight.”  
  
Brienne’s eyes were on Jaime, and Cersei’s use of _beastly_ to describe her brought to mind one of the first unkind things he had ever said about her: _this great beast of a woman_. Did Brienne remember? Gods, would she think he had said the same of her to Cersei sometime? Jaime cursed himself for not thinking harder on what would happen when Brienne and Cersei were flung together on this campaign. Brienne could beat nearly anyone in a fair fight, but off the field he doubted her ability to out-bitch Cersei.  
  
“Lady Brienne,” Jaime said, “is the finest trainer you could wish to find, and if you hope to survive out there against the Others you will learn everything that you can from her.”  
  
“Ah,” said Cersei, her green eyes glinting with malice, “Like how to be the Kingslayer’s Whore?”  
  
Brienne’s voice, nearly as cold as Cersei’s, said “I believe you already know how to be that.”  
  
Both Jaime and Cersei’s heads snapped towards Brienne, who had bent down to pick up her own helm.  
  
Jaime was completely lost for a moment. He was sorely tempted to take Brienne in his arms and give her a passionate kiss to show just who the real Kingslayer’s Whore was. But she wasn’t, not really, and she would not thank him undermining her purpose in being here, which was to train Cersei so that she might survive and even be some use outside of her little realm of intrigue and politics.  
  
Brienne settled her helm over her head, the cut of the faceplate outlining her amazing blue eyes, which were now looking at Jaime, hot with some emotion. Apprehension? Anger? Resignation? He could not tell with the rest of her face obscured. He met her eyes with his own for a few heartbeats, trying to school his expression so his own turmoil might not be evident to Cersei.  
  
He nodded briefly to Brienne, giving her a small smile before turning back to Cersei.  
  
“Sister, I would ask that you show some respect to Lady Brienne, who now out-classes you on more than one level. You will be a foot soldier in this war we go to fight, and your survival is no sure thing out there where we all must depend on each other’s readiness for battle.”  
  
“And _you_ will not protect me, my love?” Cersei asked sweetly, attempting to walk seductively up to Jaime in her heavy armor. Her thighs clanked together and her greaves made her stiff-legged.  
  
 _Was she serious_ , Jaime thought, _could she really think he was likely to fall under her spell after all this time and all that had happened_?  
  
“Cersei,” he said, almost gently, “we all protect each other, out there.” He gestured with his chin toward the north.  
  
“But you are _her_ protector, are you not?” she hissed, the sweetness vanishing in the blink of her cat-like eyes.  
  
Jaime glanced at Brienne nervously, _I am hers and she is mine_ , he thought, but did not say it. _Help me, Brienne, for I have no words for what we are to each other_.  
  
“He is my brother in arms, and we do what we must so that we both survive.” Brienne said flatly.  
  
 _No, that wasn’t it_ , thought Jaime, but then he wasn’t so sure. He was beginning to despise being anyone’s _brother_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I am excited to see where this is going! Thank you all for your kind comments. I don't know if I'll be able to continue updating at this pace, but for now the chapters are flowing.


	4. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wondered if he was very angry at her for implying his sister was a whore a few minutes ago. Once she might have chided herself for throwing Cersei’s words back at her, but she found that her only regret now was having suggested that Cersei was the _Kingslayer’s_ whore. Let her go be somebody else’s whore.
> 
> Brienne teaches Cersei some lessons about fighting.
> 
> Brienne's POV.

“Sister, I would ask that you show some respect to Lady Brienne, who now out-classes you on more than one level. You will be a foot soldier in this war we go to fight, and your survival is no sure thing out there where we all must depend on each other’s readiness for battle.” Jaime told Cersei.

“And _you_ will not protect me, my love?” Cersei had asked, her voice dripping seduction as she advanced on Jaime in her new armor. Brienne sighed inwardly, noting Cersei’s curved breastplate, the inviting way she batted her eyelashes at Jaime. _Though_ _she_ _moves in it like an arthritic old cat_ , Brienne told herself with some satisfaction, _of course_ I _move in a fine dress like a trussed up turkey._

“Cersei,” Jaime said, “we all protect each other, out there.” Did she note tenderness in his manner? At least he had not outright agreed that he would be protecting Cersei above all else.

“But you are _her_ protector, are you not?” Cersei had accused.

Brienne could hardly remember a time she and Jaime had not stood side by side or back to back against danger and in defense of those around them. In truth they _did_ protect each other, working as almost a single creature, together greater and mightier than half a dozen other warriors. Just as they slept together and ate together, where there was one there was always the other. Brienne felt her eyes prick with threatening tears at the thought of that not always being true.

“He is my brother in arms, and we do what we must so that we both survive.” She told Cersei, but it was Jaime’s face she watched.

Jaime looked between Brienne and Cersei, seeming unsure of what to say or how to break the tension between the three of them. Brienne had been afraid of this, had wondered how they could possibly exist peaceably together. If they couldn’t do it here in the training yard how were they to manage it when the only way to survive was to band together or perish?

 _Why did he not speak_?

She wondered if he was very angry at her for implying his sister was a whore a few minutes ago. Once she might have chided herself for throwing Cersei’s words back at her, but she found that her only regret now was having suggested that Cersei was the _Kingslayer’s_ whore. Let her go be somebody else’s whore. There would be plenty of men in the camp who would be thrilled to be wound around her vicious little finger.

Gods, just don’t let it be Jaime, she prayed.

“If you will put on your helm My lady, we can begin.” She said courteously to Cersei, and Jaime took that as a good time to retreat to the hay bales to watch them, joining a small assortment of men, including Loras and Ser Barristan, that had come out in the swirling snow to watch them.

Brienne was surprised to see Tyrion there also, perched on a bale of hay he had swept clean of snow, looking almost like a child out to watch a tourney, if one didn’t look at the seam of scar across his nose and face. _Still, not as ugly as_ my _scar_ , thought Brienne. How capricious of the gods to make the already freakish even more conspicuous, while blessing someone like Jaime’s horrible sister with looks which did not match her deeds. Hah, was horrible too kind a word? Try malignant, scheming, _grasping_ …

Brienne turned back to Cersei, who looked up into Brienne’s face, sneering. If the White Walkers were susceptible to scary expressions, thought Brienne, then Cersei would do just fine in the north. But they weren’t, so Brienne sought to continue their lesson.

Cersei had still not put her helm on, so Brienne asked “Do you need assistance settling your helm, My lady?”

Cersei coyly tossed her head, setting her hair flickering in the breeze that had come up, “Is it really necessary? It’s not as though you will be using a sword against me.”

 _Yet_ , Brienne told herself, taking a deep breath for patience.

“It is important to get used to having the weight of a helmet on your head, so that your neck muscles may develop strength.”

“I see that has worked out very well for you, my lady,” Cersei said with a pointed look at Brienne’s gorget-covered neck before she finally put on her own helm, which was decorated with small silver lions inlaid about the eyes and cheek guards.

Brienne felt her face burn beneath her helm, knowing that Cersei was referring to her own thickly muscled neck. Cersei’s neck was slender and graceful, and Brienne wanted to grasp it like that of a Stark Swan and choke her. _Cersei would make an especially unappealing Ice Goose stew_ , thought Brienne with a tiny shudder.

First she began by working on Cersei’s stance, showing her how to plant her feet wide apart so as not to be easily knocked over.

“If I were teaching you tourney fighting we would go through how to move around your opponent effectively while keeping yourself balanced, but that kind of finesse is useless in the snow, where standing your ground is more important.”

Cersei continued to watch Brienne as though she was a particularly repulsive bug for a while, but eventually she seemed to get caught up a little in the instruction. Brienne had not allowed her a practice sword or a shield yet, preferring to cover some basics that most squires learned by the time they were seven or eight years old.

“As women we do not have the same musculature as men,” Brienne said, and Cersei huffed out a particularly un-ladylike snort.

“That may be the case for one of us,” Cersei snarked, “it certainly holds no truth in _your_ case.”

Brienne glanced to where Jaime sat watching, relieved he could not hear the conversation. She knew he could get downright violent when he thought somebody was being offensive to Brienne, but she had no idea how he would react to his sister’s goads. How far would he be pushed before he had to choose a side?

Brienne smiled grimly down at Cersei and continued with her task. They stood side by side in the same stance, feet planted, forearms pulled in to their chests as though they were about to throw a punch.

 _Or imitate chickens_ , thought Brienne. 

She showed Cersei how to twist her torso around to one side and then use the power of her hips to propel her shoulders back to center, only snapping out the sword arm toward the end of the movement, keeping her shield arm protectively bent in front of her.

She was gratified to see Cersei execute the move without difficulty.

“You see,” she explained to Cersei handing her a light practice sword, “lacking the strength in our arms and shoulders, if we swing a sword like a man it has little power behind it.” She allowed Cersei to swing the sword from her shoulder, knowing that most beginners would make that movement when presented with a sword. “Now, if you use the power of your hips to drive your blow you will deliver a stronger cut, and be able to recover more quickly, always bringing your sword back home to your shield to protect yourself.” Cersei pulled the sword in as Brienne had shown her, rotated her shoulders and then twisted back, snapping out the blunted sword.

“Good!” praised Brienne. Cersei had a little glow in her eyes, _was that pride and interest?_ wondered Brienne. She remembered her first lessons with a real master at arms, and how a little instruction had made the sword seem to sing in her hand. She hoped Cersei might be feeling some of that same excitement. Jaime had told her once that Cersei had always lamented not having the same opportunities and powers that any man was granted as a birthright. Wielding a sword was one of the few things a woman could do to have some power of her own, Brienne thought, though she doubted Cersei had thought through what being a knight, or even a squire, really entailed. Be careful what you wish for girl, she thought ruefully.

“So a lot of our strength comes from our hips?” Cersei asked, still swinging from side to side, punching out with the practice sword.

“It does,” Brienne confirmed.

“Then you must be the most powerful of us all. With those child-bearing hips and _sturdy_ thighs it’s a wonder you haven’t pushed out a passel of squalling brats,” Cersei stopped and gave Brienne a triumphant smile, “but I suppose that would require a man to want to bed you.”

 _Fuuuuuuckk_.

How had Jaime ever survived this woman? If being a desirable woman meant she had to be a woman like Cersei then Brienne would rather reach inside and pull her womb out through her own throat. Brienne looked over at Jaime again, and noticed Cersei was also looking intently at him. He looked uneasy under their scrutiny and pretended to look around himself as though to find what they were looking for. The other men watched the lesson avidly; completely unaware of the beating Brienne was taking.

Brienne picked up a tourney sword of her own and called Cersei’s attention back to her training.

“Next, I think we should work on how you grip a sword,” she announced.

Cersei laughed throatily and said “That is a skill I perform very well already, I should think,” throwing a meaningful glance in Jaime’s direction.

Brienne could hold back no longer. “It is a good skill to have, My lady,” she said, “but to be sure the hilt of a sword is unlikely to become _softer_ in your hand no matter _how_ you treat it, which might lead you to think your hold on it is more secure than it is.” And with that Brienne smoothly went into the proper way to hold a broadsword, managing _not_ to look pointedly at Jaime. _It is not for nothing_ , she thought, _that I endured listening to the camp followers squawk about their conquests_. She was glad Jaime hadn’t heard her, or she would never live down pretending to experience she didn’t have.

***

Brienne sank back in the bath as far as she was able. What she wouldn’t give for a proper tub, something more along the lines of a hot spring, long enough to properly stretch her legs under the water, to drift and submerge all but her nose, letting the water slosh over her eyes and forehead, to sift like fingers through her hair. It didn’t even have to be a hot spring. What she really wanted, Brienne decided, was a warm summer day and the salt waters around Tarth, one of the little coves she knew of where she could be alone. She tried to put herself there in her mind, imagined she could hear  the calling of sea birds high overhead, the grumbles of parrots in the trees, quarreling half-heartedly over fruits and nuts, the _shhh shhh shhh_ of the surf as it rocked her in the buoyancy of salt water, soothing on her naked skin. The sun could bring out the freckles on her flesh all it wanted, she wouldn’t care. No one would care, while she dreamed there in the water.  
  
But that was the problem; her dreams had been of valor and chivalry, honor and sacrifice. She had followed those dreams and ended up here, in this piss-pit of a city, teaching the likes of Cersei Lannister, no, Cersei _Waters_ , how to combat the undead when they traveled back to the frozen hell of the north, to live or die at the world’s end, far from home. Despite all that she had gone through Brienne still believed she had chosen the correct path. She had rescued Sansa, and she had done good in the world. She had fulfilled her vows as best she could. She regretted her scars and mourned for her losses, but it was still better than being trapped by marriage, living her life to satisfy a man who never wanted _her_ in the first place, who only took her to gain the island of Tarth. She thought of Hyle Hunt, and his many proposals. His suit had eventually seemed sincere, for he had grown to regard her with some affection but she did not return the feeling.  
  
At one time she thought she might have been grateful for someone like Ser Hyle. _In the dark you’d be as beautiful as any woman,_ he had told her. No, she never would have been grateful for someone like Hyle; in the dark he would be as hoggish as any man. Why did men assume a woman would be grateful for their regard, yet give no thought to how they themselves were regarded?  
  
Brienne turned to the side in her cramped tub, curling into herself, the light of the fire in the room’s brazier beating against her closed eyes. She thought of Jaime and found herself holding her breath to keep from letting out the sobs threatening to escape, trying to stem the tears stinging beneath her lids. Everything had been nearly perfect, if you didn’t count the undead and the cold and the lack of decent food, the stink and hopelessness…she could bear it all with Jaime by her side. He didn’t have to return her love, not the kind of love she felt for him, anyway. He did love her in his own way, she was sure of that. She was _not_ about to say he loved her like a sister. Okay, if he loved her like he had _loved_ his sister…but no, that was just icky. Whatever they had together was wonderful, and it had been enough. Would it be enough to keep Cersei from coming between them?  
  
And then Brienne did allow herself to cry, eventually falling asleep in tears as salty as the blue waters of Tarth, her bath water growing colder around her.  
  


***

Brienne hurried across the courtyard to Traitor’s Walk, taking the steps two at a time to Jaime’s chamber, the eyes of the Dothraki guards following her form as she climbed. She arrived slightly breathless at Jaime’s door, pausing to compose herself before she knocked.

“Enter,” Jaime’s voice called from within. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her eyes widened as she took in Jaime’s freshly trimmed beard, his neatly combed hair. He sat on the bed, chin in hand, and looked up at her questioningly, “Where have you been? I had thought we were going to eat together. I’m nearly hungry enough to eat onion stew.”

“Only if Cersei hasn’t been near it,” Brienne said, hoping he would smile at her little jape. He did. “Shall we go now, then? I am hungry as well.”

Jaime stood and stretched ostentatiously, even going so far as to yawn loudly. Brienne stood and quietly admired his figure, hoping it looked like she was just being patient with his display. She knew he did this on purpose, that the man had an ego like a lion and enjoyed having admiring eyes upon him. She gave him a sly look and said “If you’re quite finished, we should go before Varys has eaten everything worth having.”

“Gods, do you think he’s still there? You’re at least an hour late.”

“Perhaps not, but it you’re lucky maybe Ser Loras will be there to laugh at your jokes and tell you you’re pretty.” Brienne said, trying to look coyly at him.

Jaime laughed and reached out to grab her around the waist and pull her to him. Brienne tried to hide her surprise as he held her against him. He put his mouth near her ear and said “if I make you laugh will _you_ tell me I’m pretty?”

“You’re pretty enough, I suppose,” Brienne said in what she hoped was a steady voice.

“Gods, your hair smells good,” Jaime said, sniffing close enough to her ear to make her shiver. He leaned back from her a little and tilted his head, “and it looks good enough to eat, too. Have you been doing something new to it?”

Brienne was about to answer when Jaime lifted his hand and pushed a strand of it off her cheek, smoothing it down to her shoulder. _Torture_ , she thought and resisted the urge to purr like a kitten.

“I washed it.” She said.

“I can see that. Washed it with what?”

“Oh, something the maidservant gave me. It was sudsy and had some kind of flower ground into it.”

Jaime took a deep, exaggerated breath, “I like it. Your hair smells like summer.” He released her waist then and picked his cloak up from the bed, swinging it easily about his shoulders single handed.

“Let’s go. You never did tell me why you’re so late. Were you in council?”

“No, I took a bath, as you have already guessed.”

“It’s a wonder you don’t look like one of Bolton’s prunes.”

“I suppose it is. I fell asleep in the tub.”

“Ah, much like I did in the tubs of Harrenhal?”

“ _Not_ like you did in the tubs of Harrenhal.”

Jaime grinned at her, “Wish I had been there to pull you out, Wench.”

Brienne laughed, the Harrenhal baths being a subject they often joked about. “My name is _Brienne_ ,” she told him, still laughing.

“It is ‘Wench’ if I say it is.” Jaime said smugly. “So come share a meal with me, Wench, and we’ll see if your hair can compete with that of the gorgeous Loras.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to believe that they wouldn't use a word like "icky" in Westeros. 
> 
> It is known.
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely reviews. Please keep them coming, as they draw me to my keyboard like Varys drawn to a stuffed swan soufflé.


	5. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I enjoyed watching you instruct our dear sister in the art of combat,” Tyrion noted, “was she receptive to learning from you?”  
> Brienne did not answer right away and seemed to be searching the air for what to say. “She was…uh…yes, _receptive_.” She seemed to hope the subject would drop and concentrated on her food, giving Jaime a sideways glance.  
>  “She was rather a bitch to Brienne, I’m afraid,” Jaime told Tyrion. He would have liked to repeat what Brienne had said to Cersei about being a Kingslayer’s whore, if he hadn’t been the Kingslayer in question. Best not to bring that up or Tyrion would run with it as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Jaime took Brienne’s right hand in his left and led her from his room. At first his fingers just folded over hers as he pulled her down the stairs, enjoying her breathless laughter. At the bottom of the stairs Jaime nodded to his guards, the same two who had been on duty the night before. Both guards seemed to be smiling at the pair holding hands and Jaime turned to look at Brienne. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining at him. He gripped her hand a little tighter and then moved his hand around so that their fingers were entwined.  
  
This wasn't the first time he had taken her by the hand and pulled her somewhere he wanted her to go, but it occurred to him that he had probably never held her hand like this before, like young lovers might when going for a stroll.  Jaime wondered if he should make some remark, perhaps a little joke about how he had claimed her fingers and now had a full set, or how with her right hand captured she only had one hand left to flick his ear with, but something like good sense stopped him.  
  
 _If I call her attention to it_ , he thought, _she might find a reason to pull away_. But maybe by _not_ remarking on this small change in the way they touched each other it could become habit to them, like the way she would place his tunic over his head to make it easier to shrug his arms into the sleeves, or how he would hold her hair back while she fastened her gorget, or arrange his arm and shoulder under her head as a pillow when they went to sleep.   
  
Jaime wondered suddenly if this was what it was like to court someone. With Cersei there had never been a courtship, there had been no need. They wanted each other, yes, but there had not been that heady feeling of infatuation, the process of discovering the mysteries of another person, of starting to fall for them and wondering if they might be falling for you. How strange that he and Brienne seemed to know each other so intimately, but still sometimes behaved like skittish foals around each other over the littlest things. They could lay curled together in sleep like an old married couple, dress each other’s wounds, had even seen one another naked more than once, but feeling his fingers entangled with hers had him nervous and questioning. Gods, he hoped his hand didn’t start to sweat. A small chuckle escaped his throat, followed by another and another until he was laughing outright.  
  
“What’s funny?” asked Brienne with a puzzled smile.  
  
“Nothing,” Jaime said, trying to stifle his mirth, “and _everything_.” It was an apt description for what they were to each other, he thought. Suddenly he very much wanted to kiss her, to press his lips against hers and see her reaction. But no, that was too much. Maybe he could just kiss her knuckles? Again, too much.  
  
Still, this could be a little like a lover’s stroll, couldn’t it? Inspiration struck and he led over to the stone passage leading down into the cells below: “My lady, would you like a tour of the dungeons?”  
  
Brienne bit her full bottom lip, looking both bemused and concerned. “The dungeons? Do you have friends down there?”  
  
And a sudden thought struck him, “Oh Gods, they’re not keeping Cersei down there, are they?”  
  
Brienne pursed her lips and looked at him askance. “No, she is being housed in the Maidenvault, same as me.”  
  
Jaime guffawed, “I think it’s about time they thought of renaming the Maidenvault; I was under the impression it was just for maidens.”  
  
Brienne blushed. This had been a mysterious subject for quite a while between them. When he first knew her she had been the Maid of Tarth, and proud to claim the title, but after Lady Stoneheart and the Brave Companions, somewhere between the time she had left with Oathkeeper and returned to him at Pennytree, she never spoke of it again, and was evasive when he brought it up, however subtly. She smiled at his jests and kept her own secrets.  
  
“The Maidenvault has long been used to house sundry guests of the crown,” she told him, “though currently it only houses unmarried women and girls.”  
  
Jaime’s breath caught in his throat with the desire to know what she could be hiding. If she was no longer a maid, had it been Hyle or some other nameless ruffian? Had she fallen for someone after Renly and had her heart broken again? He wanted to slay them all, not just knock out a mouthful of teeth as he had done to Red Ronnet.  
  
Brienne took in Jaime’s suddenly serious expression and asked “Are you _very_ familiar with the dungeons? I have wondered what they are like. I imagine them to be like the pits of hell, though with a worse odor.”  
  
“Yes, that about describes them,” said Jaime, “There are four levels, with the final one being so horrifying I am told you would be struck blind were there light enough to see.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Brienne said sarcastically, “by all means, _please_ give me a tour of the dungeons Ser Jaime. What a fine idea. And then we can go see if we still have an appetite for onion stew and pickled pigs’ feet.”  
  
“You know, I think I hear your stomach growling.” He said, “How about we go on to the dining hall and save the dungeons for another time?”  
  
“My stomach did _no_ t growl.”  
  
“It did. It sounded like a dying aurochs. Arrrruhg arrg,” He mimicked. It was a good thing he had hold of her right hand so she couldn’t smack him. He tightened his grip on her fingers. _Let her do it left-handed then, at least the blow would be weaker,_ he told himself.  
  
She started off toward the door to the courtyard, pulling him along with her. He went willingly.  
  
In the courtyard the light of the short day had long since fled and an icy fog had set in. The torches on the parapets around them glowed hazily through the mist. As they walked toward the collection of buildings that housed the dining hall the fog swept around them like a white cloak, enfolding them in silence.  _Like somewhere not of this world_ , Jaime thought, _just she and I, alone_.  
  
Out of the eerie stillness a horse whickered and a gate slammed and the spell was broken.  
  
“I feel terrible that I have not visited Sean since we arrived,” Brienne said, “I hope he is being well cared for and that they have remembered his warm blue blanket.”  
  
“They would not dare to neglect the fearsome Brienne of Tarth’s horse,” Jaime told her, “I am certain he is being spoilt rotten and will refuse to carry you back to the north again.”  
  
“He does so hate the spiders,” Brienne said, “ever since that one got past the torches and wounded his flank. Have you been to see Ser Fluffy Tail?”  
  
“His name is Reginald the Regal, you know.”  
  
“I like the name Tommen graced him with better, and since he was king at the time, it must stand. _Did_ he actually knight the horse?”  
  
“I think he may have,” Jaime said, “for the horse takes on airs and demands special treatment. He is no hedge knight and deplores having to mix with the lower classes.” _Such as Hyle_ , he thought, but did not say it out loud.  
  
He thought briefly about his son Tommen, now safely living at Casterly rock, albeit with a guard of Daenerys’ choosing to stem any attempt to rally support for the former king to take back the throne. A waste of resources, Jaime figured, since Tommen would rather woo girls by showing them his collection of castle cats. Ah, to be that young again, and that innocent.  
  
  
  
They had arrived at the group of buildings that housed the dining hall and went inside, glad to be out of the cold. Jaime was gratified that so far Brienne had not tried to retrieve her hand from his. _She is trying not to mention it as well_ , he thought, and hoped it was because she, too, hoped it would become a habit and not because she was just humoring him.  
  
As they entered the dining hall all eyes seemed once again to turn to them, to sweep over them in curiosity. No one seemed surprised to see their hands clasped. Jaime supposed the only people surprised by it were he and Brienne. It was commonly assumed the two of them were lovers, had been lovers for a long while.  
  
The long tables of the hall were surprisingly full, and even Daenerys had decided to grace the people with her presence. She sat at a table near one of the smaller braziers with Jorah Mormont, Ser Barristan, and Missandei. A handful of Dothrakis were also included in the Queen’s entourage, men and women all with their dusky chests semi-exposed and goose-fleshed in the cold. Ser Jorah sat as close to the queen as he could get away with, alternately making moon eyes at her and watching every man around them suspiciously. He looked like a dog guarding a steak that was way too hot for him to eat, one he had burned his tongue on more than once.  
  
As Jaime and Brienne took in the people at the table their attention was caught by an enormous dragon skull hung from the rafters over the queen’s table, seeming to leer down at the occupants of the hall.  
  
“She’s been decorating again,” Brienne noted in a low voice, trying not to stare. The huge skull hung from a series of leather bands, its jaw wired open into a snarl with dried sinew.  
  
“Is it…” Jaime paused, his mouth hanging open briefly, “breathing fire?”  
  
Brienne studied it and pronounced “No, just smoke.” They began to walk casually to a table near the opposite wall from the dragon skull.  
  
“Gods,” said Jaime in amazement, “she’s had the brazier’s pipe re-directed so the smoke vents out its mouth. I just knew someday she’d manage to kill us all.” He bit his lip and met Brienne’s eyes with his own, and they both had to stifle unseemly giggles as they selected a table with an unoccupied end.  
  
The hall was smokier than usual due to the dragon’s breath, but it was not as bad the further one sat from the queen. Servants brought them trenchers of the evening’s fare: broiled fish cooked into a pulpy glob, caramelized onions, withered carrots and pickled pigs feet.  
  
“As hungry as I am,” Brienne said to Jaime, “you are welcome to my pickled pigs’ feet.”  
  
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jaime replied, “ _I_ would never describe your feet that way. Hand them over,” he said, pretending to reach under the table for her booted foot.  
  
“I promise I _will_ hit you,” Brienne warned. She picked up the slab of bread from Jaime’s plate and tore it into three pieces for him. Jaime could have done it himself, but really, why do it for himself when he knew Brienne would?  
  
“Hey, you two,” said Tyrion, crawling up onto the bench across from them. “How’s my favorite couple today?” he asked with a wolfish grin.  
  
Jaime and Brienne both looked at him for half a second, considering whether to address his remark. _Was this a trick question_ , Jaime thought, _if I say ‘fine’ I acknowledge the label, if I ignore it I seem to dispute it_.  
  
“Lord Tyrion,” Brienne said, “how nice of you to join us,” and thereby averted the entire question.  
  
“I hope you’re hungry,” Jaime said, “it’s your favorite: pickled pigs feet.”  
  
Tyrion wrinkled his nose, his scar rucking up and making it appear half a sneer. “I think not.” He said and waved his arm above him, signaling for wine. “How do you like the Queen’s new, um, gods, what shall we call it?” he asked, nodding toward the dragon skull.  
  
“Rufus.” Said Brienne.  
  
“Rufus?” Tyrion and Jaime both said at once.  
  
“I had a cat named Rufus, back on Tarth. He had that exact expression when bringing up a hairball.”  
  
“Rufus.” Tyrion and Jaime confirmed.  
  
“What message is she trying to send with Rufus, do you think?” Jaime asked Tyrion.  
  
“‘ _I have dragons’_ I should imagine,” said Tyrion as his trencher arrived, pigs’ feet steaming next to the fish. Another servant brought a flagon of red wine and three cups.  
  
“No, thank you,” Brienne told the young woman when she tried to set a cup in front of her.  
  
“You do not partake?” asked Tyrion curiously.  
  
“Ah, poor lady Brienne had a bit too much the other night and it set her to wobbling.”  
  
“ _I do not wobble_!” huffed Brienne.  
  
“Do not feel bad, my lady,” Tyrion told her kindly, “for I wobble even when sober.” He quaffed most of his cup and gestured for the server to leave the flagon. “I enjoyed watching you instruct our dear sister in the art of combat,” Tyrion noted, “was she receptive to learning from you?”  
  
Brienne did not answer right away and seemed to be searching the air for what to say. “She was…uh…yes, _receptive_.”  She seemed to hope the subject would drop and concentrated on her food, giving Jaime a sideways glance.  
  
“She was rather a bitch to Brienne, I’m afraid,” Jaime told Tyrion. He would have liked to repeat what Brienne had said to Cersei about being a Kingslayer’s whore, if he hadn’t been the Kingslayer in question. Best not to bring that up or Tyrion would run with it as fast as his little legs could carry him.  
  
“I would have liked to have heard what went on when I was watching from the hay bales,” remarked Tyrion, “from what I know of my sister I am surprised that you were not tempted to whack her over the head with a sword.”  
  
“ _I_ was sorely tempted,” said Jaime, “and that was just from what I heard when I was standing there.” He looked at Brienne, who was studiously looking away. She seemed to be examining one of the small dragon skulls on the wall that had red ribbons dripping from its mouth like blood. Daenerys really did have the worst taste, he thought.  
  
Dropping the uncomfortable subject but promising himself to bring it up with Brienne again later, Jaime said brightly “I have an appointment with a smithy in town on the morrow. We will be working on something new for my right arm. I know how my lady Brienne hates my gold hand.”  
  
Brienne turned from her perusal of an especially gaudy tapestry depicting a dragon dining on a knight’s innards. “I do not _hate_ your gold hand.”  
  
“You do not _like_ it.”  
  
“it is not my place to like or dislike it.” She said quietly. “I’m sure it is quite useful, for… _something_.”  
  
Tyrion watched their exchange as though it were an especially diverting sparring match. His grin looked particularly predatory to Jaime. Suddenly Tyrion looked towards the entrance to the hall and said “Oh, look, there’s Cersei!” and waved his hand to beckon her over. He watched as Jaime and Brienne’s expressions became mirrors of utter dismay, eyes wide with alarm. He nearly fell off the bench, gasping with laughter. “Ho ho, we have the truth of it now,” he chortled when he could breathe again, hands wrapped over his stomach as he gasped to catch his breath. “the two most feared warriors in Westeros practically wetting their britches at the threat of having to face Cersei!”  
  
Realizing it was a joke, Jaime glared at his younger brother. Brienne leaned over the table until she was practically nose to nose with Tyrion, “Beware, little man, or I will dandle you on my knee.” Jaime whooped and smacked the table with his hand. _You get him, Brienne_!  
  
“My lady,” he said to her as he dabbed at his mouth with a small cloth, “if you are finished with your meal may I escort you out?”  
  
“Yes,” said Tyrion, “go, go, before our sister does show up. I will make sure your share of the wine is not wasted.”  
  
Brienne swung her long leg over the bench and stood up next to Jaime. He reached for her hand and quickly laced their fingers together. Jaime’s heart stuttered in his chest at his own boldness. _I have fought creatures out of legend, killed a king, had my heart ripped apart by the meanest woman in seven kingdoms, and_ this _makes me feel brave_?  
  
The two warriors left the hall and Jaime led them to the stables, his guards following at a discreet distance. They found them nearly deserted but for a sleeping groom, a young man a little older than Podrick Payne had been when he was Tyrion’s squire. Jaime lit a fresh torch from the small one flaming in a sconce by the entryway and they moved into the dark barn to find their horses. They heard a horse whicker from near the end of the first row of stalls and Brienne said, “That is Sean calling to me. He must have recognized my smell. Perhaps Ser Fluffy Tail will be with him.” And they set off down the row.  
  
The smell of horses, hay, and sweat combined with the warmth of the stables was soothing and familiar to them. They both seemed to relax and Jaime was glad they had come here instead of to the small hall to hear the bards that Dany kept employed at all times. When they arrived at Sean’s stall the great horse leaned his head over the gate and his velvety lips strained toward Brienne. She reached out a gentle hand and stroked his nose.  
  
“I wish I had a treat for you, Ser, but I promise I will bring you something soon.” She placed her hands on his big cheekbones and laid her forehead against his, breathing in his scent, and then kissing him between the eyes. “Thank you for thinking of this, Jaime; it is just what I needed.” She moved to the side of Sean’s head and curled her arm under his neck so that her hand rested just behind his soft ears, then rested her cheek against his.  
  
Jaime’s own horse was begging for reunion from the next stall, and Jaime went over to stroke his nose, “There, there, Reggie, are they treating you well? Say, you don’t happen to like pigs’ feet, do you? No? I thought not.” His horse began nosing in Jaime’s tunic and he laughed and stepped back. “No fooling you, old man.” And withdrew a couple of the withered carrots he had tucked into his belt at dinner. He handed one to Brienne, whose eyes glittered in the semi-dark as she took it and presented it to her horse. Jaime’s horse reached his long neck out and lipped his share out of Jaime’s hand.  
  
“Brienne,” Jaime asked softly, “how bad was it, working with my sister?”  
  
Brienne considered him briefly, her eyes searching his face, perhaps trying to figure out what he wanted to hear from her. Seeming to give up any pretense she simply said, “It was awful.”  
  
“Please tell me about it.”  
  
“What is there to say, Ser? She hates me, and she wants you, and she wants me to know it. She seemed to know where the chinks in my armor were and was able to stick her dagger into each one and twist it.” Brienne paused to watch his reaction to her blunt assessment.  
  
Jaime reached for her with his right arm and drew her away from the horse, pulling her against his chest as she rested her burning face against his neck and collar bone. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair over and over, and as she wept softly against him, he whispered _shh shh shh_ as though she were a frightened child.  
  
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. Jaime had long been over Cersei, but he suddenly realized now that he was forced to be near his sister again just how much she had taken from him, and how much she would still try to take. As he stood there with his true companion in his arms he felt he had been a fool not to risk letting her know how he felt. _I_ am _going to court her_ , he thought, nuzzling his nose into her hair, _though I will no doubt be terrible at it_.  
  
Brienne pulled back from him and wiped her tears on her sleeve, smiling a little sadly at him. “Do you know,” she sniffed, “that back when Hyle Hunt was trying to win that bet for my maidenhood he brought me carrots for my horse?” She laughed a little shakily.  
  
 _Yes, I am already terrible at it_ , thought Jaime. Hyle Hunt _had_ courted her by bringing her carrots for her horse, he remembered now. Courted her! He hoped he would not repeat any more of the hedge knight’s missteps. Jaime knew that the hedge knight had traveled with Brienne for quite a while before they were brought to Lady Stoneheart. Hunt had hung around a while afterwards…  
  
Jaime put his finger under Brienne’s chin and made her look into his eyes, “Did you and he…? I mean, you told me he proposed and, I, uh, just wondered if, maybe…” Brienne was blushing now on top of the redness already in her face from crying. Her eyes were huge and perhaps as blue as he’d ever seen them.  
  
“Are you asking if I allowed Hyle Hunt to come to my bed?” she asked.  
  
“I know it is none of my business.”  
  
“He offered to,” she told him, and Jaime could feel his jaw tightening with rage, “I told him that if he tried I would make him a eunuch.” Jaime laughed. So not Hunt, then, thank the gods.  
  


***

Back at the Traitor’s Walk Jaime and Brienne climbed the stairs to his room. The space was small, lacking even a chair. There was only the narrow bed to sit or sleep upon and a small table with a basin of water on it.

“Thank you for taking me to see my horse,” Brienne began, looking like she was going to return to her own quarters.

“Brienne,” Jaime said, not releasing her hand yet, “Stay with me tonight, for I cannot sleep without you stealing my covers and telling me I snore.”

“It would not be proper…” began Brienne.

“We have slept next to each other for more nights than I can count, so what is proper? Will they notice your absence from the Maidenvault and come looking for you? ”

Brienne shook her head, but did not try to leave immediately. “Your bed is narrow, and your blankets scratchy.”

“And my pillow is filled with thistles, I think. Would you prefer I slept with you in your bed in the Maidenvault?”

“That would be a scandal indeed!” Brienne said lightly, “and there is a crotchety old septa guarding the door. Also, do you not think your Dothraki guards would give us away as they lounged against the walls just outside?”

“So it is settled. You will sleep here tonight.” Jaime gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. “Please?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter so far. Thank you all for reading and commenting - especially for commenting, because your comments keep me moving forward with this.
> 
> I know it's about time for a Cersei POV, but we do want to know what Brienne thought of the thistle pillow, right? 
> 
> So next up will be a Brienne chapter.


	6. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, shove over, Wench. I am sleepy and plan to snore loud enough to wake the dragons.”
> 
> Brienne lay down on the bed facing the wall, trying to make as much room for Jaime to squeeze in next to her as she could. She took a few steadying breaths and thought to herself how completely ridiculous it was to be feeling nervous tonight; this would just be one of hundreds of nights cuddled up with Jaime. Surely to him the only novelty in this was that they had never slept in a jail cell together before.
> 
> For those of you low on your daily diet of fluff and angst, enjoy! Oh, and it might be helpful to read the last few sentences of chapter 5, because this one picks up where that one left off.

When Jaime asked Brienne to sleep in his bed in Traitor’s Walk, Brienne knew that she would lose any argument she might make to do otherwise. She and Jaime had been sleeping apart ever since Jaime had been taken prisoner just south of Queenscrown. He had been under guard on the long road to King’s Landing for his trial and Brienne had barely been allowed to speak with him as they moved ever closer to a probable execution. It had been some of the longest, most difficult weeks of her life. 

“Please,” Jaime said, giving her the kind of smile that she would never know how to say ‘no’ to. It was not in her nature to give in too easily, though, and having Jaime beg was a rare treat. His eyes were so dark that the green of them was nearly swallowed by the black, and while he was smiling there was something else in his expression that left any resistance she might have had scattering like dandelion seeds on the breeze.

“I will stay,” Brienne told him, and Jaime’s relieved smile pierced straight through her, “on one condition,” She said.

“A condition?” Jaime asked, his smile still in place, “Name it, Wench.”

“I have not thought of one yet,” Brienne admitted, trying to quell her own giddiness. Honestly, wasn’t she getting too old to be so taken with a simple smile? “Oh, I have it!  I get to sleep next to the wall, so that if one of us falls onto the floor it will be you.”

“Then we must hold each other tightly so that we both will be safe from harm.” Jaime told her in a serious voice, as though they were about to embark on a dangerous adventure.

Brienne blushed a little at the picture he painted. His words seemed almost romantic, but she did not believe that Jaime was a man who believed in romance. She wondered what he might have been like before Cersei had scorned him for being maimed and accused him of being less than a man, and before he had found out that his faithfulness to her had been one-sided and misplaced. Had he given Cersei sweet words and promises he meant to keep?

Brienne feared that their days of holding each other in sleep as they went to push back the Others could be at an end with the inclusion of Cersei in their party. It was known and accepted among their fighting companions that the Kingslayer and Brienne of Tarth never slept apart, but would Jaime want them to keep separate beds when Cersei traveled with them to avoid her animosity and scorn? Brienne felt less fear now that Jaime was still in love with Cersei, but the possibility that he could be tempted back between her slender thighs made Brienne feel faint with anguish.

As Brienne prepared for bed she mused that there was something a little different about Jaime lately, especially tonight. He had deliberately pulled her against him twice, and he had held her hand like she imagined a young suitor might have done, had she not been so unpleasing to men from a young age. It still hurt deeply to recall her first betrothal to Red Ronnet Connington, how he had looked upon her with repugnance at their first meeting when she was twelve, on the cusp of womanhood and already as tall as a man. He had looked at her and cruelly rejected her with a rose. G _ods, how she still hated roses_. She had realized then that she was not a woman meant for a man to love. Ronnet had been loathsome himself, and she had been relieved not to have to marry him, but the scars he left had never really faded, even after she had been able to thoroughly trounce him in a melee she had fought in at King Renly’s camp at Bitterbridge.

No sense dwelling on slights from her past, she thought. The hopeful, naïve, fanciful girl she had been had disappeared before summer had turned to autumn, and the barrenness of winter suited her. Tonight she would sleep next to Jaime, who respected and cared for her, and she intended to enjoy every heartbeat of it.

They set about the usual business of getting ready for sleep. Both removed their belts and boots, and Brienne lent Jaime a hand with taking his tunic off. Brienne had seen countless men without shirts on from the time she had joined Renly’s host. Men encamped with other men had very little modesty, and the whores who seemed to attach themselves to any large camp of men had little more. Yet for all the flesh she had seen over the years the sight of Jaime with his chest bare always made her catch her breath in wonder. He may have seemed half a god at Harrenhal, but she had long since felt that no god could compare to him. Let the Warrior be jealous and the Father be proud; her Jaime, with a lion’s russet hair on a chest scored with the pale scars of battles past and the angry red slashes of wounds barely healed, was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

Brienne sat down on the hard bed while Jaime busied himself hanging his belt and hers, and leaning her sword Oathkeeper against the wall near the small table. She liked to watch him when he thought himself unobserved; his quiet strength, the movement of muscles under his skin, the way his hair fell forward over his brow. She was no less a woman just because she was undesirable and scarred and ugly; she had desires and dreams like any other. What she had with Jaime was more than she could have ever hoped. Jaime was not hers the way he had been Cersei’s, but it was enough.

Jaime turned from arranging their boots in the corner and saw her watching him. His eyes caught hers and held them, and the yearning went through her like Valeryian steel, swift and layered and true. She dropped her gaze and was glad she was sitting down. She might have had to admit to a wobble if she had tried to stand right then. _It was enough_ , she told herself again. _It had to be_.

She deliberately broke the spell by getting back to more prosaic concerns, “If I should need to get up in the night to pee, where will I find the privy closet?”

“There isn’t one,” Jaime said, I’ve just been pissing out the tall windows in the hall.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. Was he kidding her? No, he seemed very serious, though not overly concerned. “Maybe I was too quick to agree to this,” she told him, “though I suppose it is a good thing I’ve had no wine.”

A lopsided smile was starting to steal over Jaime’s face as he watched her struggle with her womanly dilemma. In camp she would have merely found a private place away from the eyes of the encampment to use as a privy, though often Jaime insisted on going with her so that he could stand guard for her at a distance. But in a castle, particularly in the prison tower of one, finding a private spot for a pee was not going to be possible.

“You are too easy to fool,” said Jaime, “there is a privy closet five doors down. It is the smaller red door. You will need to stoop to enter, I imagine.”

“I should be accustomed to the many things I must stoop to for you.” Brienne said in an annoyed voice.

“You should be glad you ended up with me rather than my younger brother then, if you do not care for stooping.”

Brienne grinned at that, conjuring a ridiculous image of she and Tyrion hand in hand. She really did owe the little scamp for his dirty trick of scaring them with the prospect of Cersei at dinner.  He would be going to the north with them as a commander, so there would be plenty of opportunity to take revenge.

“Okay, shove over, Wench. I am sleepy and plan to snore loud enough to wake the dragons.”

Brienne lay down on the bed facing the wall, trying to make as much room for Jaime to squeeze in next to her as she could. She took a few steadying breaths and thought to herself how completely ridiculous it was to be feeling nervous tonight; this would just be one of hundreds of nights cuddled up with Jaime. Surely to him the only novelty in this was that they had never slept in a jail cell together before.

Jaime sat on the bed behind her, then lay down and snugged himself up close to her, his right arm draped over her waist. He shifted around trying to get his left arm in the most comfortable position for her to rest her head on.

“Wench, could you pull the covers up some?” he said into her neck. Brienne reached her right hand out, patting along herself and Jaime and the bed until she located the thin blanket’s edge. She pulled it up and tried to tuck it all around them without getting out of position. “Would you care for the pillow?” Jaime offered.

“No, I’m certain your arm is more comfortable.”

“Hm. Okay,” he said, his voice muffled against her. She shifted her hips some to get a little more comfortable. She heard Jaime’s little intake of breath and then the familiar feel of his hard cock pressed against her backside. “Sorry,” Jaime said, sounding not sorry at all, “I’ll turn over.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brienne said quietly, “if we turn over then I have to rest my head on the thistle pillow. Stay where you are.”  Jaime made a sleepy sound and snuggled closer to her, tightening his right arm over her waist. Her right arm went over his forearm and she curled her fingers over his stump and hugged it to her. There was nothing new to this position, though feeling Jaime’s hard cock pressed against her was something she was more accustomed to waking up to; this rarely happened when they were drifting into an exhausted sleep after battling wights and ice spiders in the night.

“It really is your fault though,” Jaime murmured sleepily, “I swear you move your hips like that on purpose sometimes.”

Brienne lay awake thinking for a long while after Jaime’s arousal had subsided and his breathing had deepened into the familiar rhythms of sleep. She didn’t recall him ever laying the blame ( _or credit_? she mused) for his arousal on her before. When they had first begun sleeping together it had been awkward and embarrassing to them both when Jaime woke up with his cock stiff against her. He would mumble something about men not being able to prevent such things happening in the morning, and he would either leave their furs quickly and set about getting ready for the day, or, if he thought she was still asleep, turn over quickly and move a little away from her. Eventually it became something they would joke about just like anything else in their friendship. She would complain that his snoring had kept her up and that now something hard was poking into her back, and had he forgotten to hang his sword up before they went to bed? He would look a little chagrinned and imply he had no control over when his cock woke up. Then they would both turn over so that their positions were switched and go back to sleep. Many times she woke before Jaime and she would not mention his state at all; it was not as though she minded. And like she had done tonight, sometimes she would shift her hips around a little, brush up against him in ways she had learned brought a reaction; whether this was to torment him or herself she was never sure.

This was just another thing that was habit with them, though sometimes Jaime would still steal out of their furs and, slinging on his sword belt, go patrol the perimeters of their camp and talk to the horses. She did not know what they discussed, but she let that remain between him and Sean and Ser Fluffy Tail.

Jaime had been without a lover for a very long time. At one time Cersei had been the only lover he had ever had; that might have changed between the time Cersei had cast him aside and when Brienne had come to him, desperate and wounded at Pennytree. It was not hard to suppose that he would have wanted to prove to himself that he was still whole and would survive all that had befallen him in such a short time. Brienne knew that Jaime was not a man made for celibacy, that even when his Kingsguard vows had demanded it he had broken them to be with Cersei. He was a passionate man in nearly every regard; the life in him drew others to serve and respect him, one-handed or no. He would not be happy with chastity forever.

Brienne was not so innocent and inexperienced that she did not know about men and their cocks. In every fighting unit she had belonged to the men seemed to talk of little else amongst themselves, obsessively discussing cocks: the relative size, hardness, shape and eventually where they wanted to stick theirs. Come to think of it they had very similar conversations about women’s breasts, which also usually culminated in them discussing where they wanted to stick their…Brienne shuddered briefly, thinking of some of the less desirable men in camp, and decided to think about something else. She supposed It was a sign of the men’s acceptance of her that they seldom tried to tame this talk in her presence. Of course if Ser Jaime was with her the talk immediately became more general and respectful; she wondered about this because Jaime was in no way offended by ribald japes or talk, though she had never heard him talk that way around her.

Brienne reflected that Camp life could be very raw compared to castle life. More than once in camp she had happened upon some man or another relieving himself into his hand or a soldier and a whore having a fuck when privacy was hard to be found. Brienne accepted these things as part of the life around her, the life she had chosen as a knight, even though her girlhood dreams of knighthood sometimes bore little resemblance to the reality.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep too, and despite the uncovered window and the inadequate blanket she felt warmed through and content with Jaime, _her Jaime_ , she sometimes called him to herself, breathing into her hair, his heartbeat strong and reassuring against her back, his soft snores lulling her to sleep.

She awoke to a dull _thump_ and sat up with a start, looking around for Oathkeeper. A string of curses came from the floor and Brienne could not even begin to stifle her giggles as Jaime’s tousled hair and then then his sleepy eyes appeared along the edge of the bed. When he managed to pick himself off the floor and sit on the bed his disgruntled expression made her laugh so hard that a little _snort_ escaped her mouth and suddenly she could hardly breathe as she lay back on the bed with tears in the corners of her eyes, her belly shaking with mirth.

“Wench…” he warned, trying hard to look dignified and affronted even though the corners of his mouth were twitching as he tried to suppress a smile. Brienne held her stomach, gasping. “That’s it, Wench. Off the bed with you!” Jaime announced and pinned her to the bed, trying to wrap his arms around hers so that he could wrestle her off. Even with only one hand he was still able to get a good grip on her and though she fought like a lioness he rolled her until they both fell off the bed with a _whump_ , Brienne with what breath she had left knocked out of her and Jamie straddling her stomach, holding her shoulders down with his forearms.

They were nearly nose to nose as they grinned at each other, and Brienne had a fleeting fantasy that Jaime would kiss her right then, so naturally she started to twist and try to buck him off of her and they both ended up lying on their backs on the hard stone floor trying to catch their breath, looking up at the stone ceiling. One of them would start to snigger again and set the other one off until they both subsided for a span of minutes.

“Oh, Wench,” Jaime said happily, reaching his hand out to lay it briefly over hers, “If I don’t get off this floor right now my back will ache for a week.”

“We have slept on worse,” Brienne reminded him.

“But on furs, and it did not involve falling on the floor.”

“I recall one of us falling on the floor drunk at least once.” Brienne said.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“I was not talking about me.” Brienne said, “you were so out of it that I nearly had to carry you.”

“Which time was that?” Jaime asked, turning his head to look at her.

“All of them.” Brienne said with a smile, and Jaime took her hand and helped her back onto the bed.

“Next time we sleep in your room.” Jaime said, and Brienne could only agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving your comments, everyone. I promise more Cersei, Tyrion and Dany's decorating in the next chapter. I think. I'm really just making this up as I go.


	7. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne mumbled a little in her sleep, her breath quickening. Jaime was afraid that she might be having a nightmare, as both of them often did. Then she sighed his name in her sleep and the way she breathed it out was not a sound born of nightmare but from some passionate dream she must be having. Brienne arched her neck on the pillow and softly called out his name again, “Oh, Jaime. Jaime…” and Jaime knew he had to leave _right then_. 
> 
> A Jaime POV chapter. This takes place immediately after chapter 6 and concurrently with chapter 7. Hope that's not too confusing!
> 
> Those of you looking for fluff, you've come to the right place. Those looking for plot take a number and wait for the next chapter.

When Jaime and Brienne returned to the bed after their tussle on the floor the barest light of day was just seeping in through the tiny cell window along with a few well-aimed snowflakes and a draft that seemed cold enough to freeze a dragon’s fiery breath. When they had been encamped near Queenscrown this was about the time they would be stumbling into their furs to go to sleep after a long night of warding off the incursions of the Others, but here in the Red Keep they had the temporary luxury of sleeping in. They intended to take full advantage of the respite.  
  
The battle happening in the north was far from Jaime’s thoughts as he lay next to Brienne in the narrow bed.  He had tried to convince her to take the outer side of the bed after he had fallen on the floor, but she, typically, had refused. Her condition for staying with him in Traitor’s Walk had been her getting to sleep next to the wall and she would not waver. This was fine by Jaime for it gave him an excuse to hold her all the closer to keep himself from falling off again. The dim light coming through the window found them facing each other, Brienne’s head tucked under Jaime’s chin and her left leg hooked between both of his. It was an arduous position to be in, Jaime thought drowsily as Brienne snuggled closer, moving her muscular thigh against the ridge of his arousal in her sleep. Were he more honorable he might turn over or do sums in his head, were he less honorable he might move against her himself, just a little. Caught at the crossroads of caution and desire he kissed the top of Brienne’s head and gave in to imagining a time when he could caress her awake and they could take their time learning each other even better than they already did. Jaime ached with the need to make Brienne his, but it was a sweet ache, and his resolve to court Brienne now, when they were not on a quest nor in fear of their lives had taken on the aspect of a solemn oath to himself and to her.  
  
Jaime’s sleepy thoughts drifted to earlier in the night when he had wrestled Brienne off the bed for laughing at him and they had landed on the floor with him holding Brienne down, nearly nose to nose with her. Jaime had been in very real danger of lowering his mouth to hers then, the few inches between their lips seeming no barrier at all to finally kissing her when neither of them was drunk enough to deny that it had meant anything later. Jaime could have sworn he had seen the same bright spark of want reflected in Brienne’s eyes, just before she had used surprise and strength to throw him off and they had ended up laughing like little kids as they lay on the floor next to each other.  
  
Now as they lay entwined so nearly like lovers Jaime indulged in imagining what might have happened if he _had_ kissed the wench; how the kiss would have felt as her body melted against him and his tongue sought hers, his arms and hand free to roam down her back to her waist, her hips, her arse, to feel the power there in every inch of her and to feel her start to loosen at his touch. He wanted to see Brienne surrender her restraint and run her hands through his hair, over his shoulders and down his back.  He wanted to feel her pulse race as he kissed her neck...  
There between waking and sleep Jaime’s imagination carried him on currents of longing, and when Brienne shifted her leg against him again in her sleep he realized just how painfully hard he was, and before he could count himself back down to a calmer state Brienne mumbled a little in her sleep, her breath quickening. Jaime was afraid that she might be having a nightmare, as both of them often did. Then she sighed his name in her sleep and the way she breathed it out was not a sound born of nightmare but out of some passionate dream she must be having. Brienne arched her neck on the pillow and softly called out his name again, “Oh, Jaime. Jaime…” and Jaime knew he had to leave _right then_. He scrambled from the bed and headed for the door. Brienne was awakened by the sudden cold and cracked her eyes open.  
  
“Jaime? Where are you going?”  
  
“Need to take a piss,” he told her gruffly and left for the cramped privacy of the privy closet. A while later when he quietly returned to the room Brienne was sleeping soundly on her back, taking up the whole bed.  Jaime crawled in, shuffled Brienne over to one side unceremoniously and laid down with his back to her. He tried to pull his share of the scratchy blanket over him, but her grip was quite strong for someone who was asleep.  
  
“You rotten, blanket-thieving wench,” he muttered, and whipped the pillow, which she had also appropriated, out from under her head. Be bunched it up and put it under his own head. Lying there in only his trousers with a lumpy pillow and the edge of a thin blanket was still better than sleeping alone he thought, as he shivered a little from the breeze coming from the window.  
  
Then Brienne turned in toward him, yanked the blanket back over both of them and growled “Give me the pillow or you’ll be back on the floor, Lannister,” and swiftly snatched it out from under his head, replaced in with her arm and went back to sleep.  All in all a good night, her thought, but he was looking forward to both of them sleeping in her bed in the Maidenvault that night.  
  
They awoke a couple of hours later. It was rare that they didn’t both have something they needed to get up and do right away, and cuddling under the covers when it wasn’t time to sleep was not something they had ever done. Given the cramped bed it wasn’t the time to start, either. Brienne was the first out of bed, crawling over Jaime to get out and head for the privy closet. While she was there Jaime strolled out and pissed out a tall window that overlooked an unused side yard.  There were some advantages to being a man, he though, as Brienne walked back into the room, scowling like thunder. “You said it was cramped in there, but you didn’t tell me it was built for a child!” she grumped, rubbing her knee, “I find it hard to believe anyone taller than Tyrion could comfortably sit in there and do anything.”  
  
“I have to agree, it is snug in there,” Jaime commiserated, thinking of his visit there in the night and having a difficult time keeping his smile from giving away that his business there had not been of the usual sort. How many highborn prisoners had been driven from their beds in the night because their bed partner was a little too appealing? Not many, he guessed. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him as he tried to look innocent, but Jaime was biting his lower lip and Brienne knew when he did that he was trying to keep something from her, something he was feeling especially mischievous or pleased about.  
  
“Okay, what now?” she asked in exasperation, “is there somewhere else I might have gone and not smashed my knees against the door? Or did you pull some dirty trick, like putting spider eggs that were about to hatch in there? No, wait; _you’re_ the one who is afraid of spiders, so that wouldn’t be it.”  
  
“I am not afraid of spiders, at least not the small kind that are not made of ice.”  
  
“You are so! You are far more frightened of regular spiders than you are of ice spiders! I’ve seen that little dance you do when you’ve found a spider crawling on you, or when you’ve walked right into a web.” Brienne teased, “You are such a baby sometimes.” Brienne picked up her boots and sat down on the bed to pull them on.  “I should get back to the vault and change my clothes. I need to sit in with Tyrion and the other unit commanders today, and I had hoped to get a little sparring in before my skills get too rusty.” She looked up at Jaime, who had his tunic and was trying to throw it up in the air one-handed and catch the opening on his stump. “Oh, here,” Brienne fussed, catching the tunic in midair and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.  
  
Brienne sat back down on the bed abruptly and put her head in her hands. “Oh gods, the woman who guards the door to the Maidenvault is such a gossip! How am I going to get past her without the entire Keep hearing I spent the night somewhere else?”  
  
Jaime laughed at her discomfort, “Wench, is there _anyone_ who doesn’t already know that we sleep together?”  
  
Brienne was shaking her head. “No, no, no, no. Jaime, the woman is a shrew! Do you know what she said to me the other day?”  
  
“Do tell,” Jaime said, thoroughly enjoying Brienne’s skittishness about the old woman.  
  
“When I came back to change before dinner last night she told me that a tall, rakish, very handsome man had been there asking after me.”  
  
“Well, ‘tall’ lets out Tyrion anyway. So who was this man? Could it have been Loras? Men have been known to change, you know.”  
  
“Jaime! You know very well she meant you!” Brienne said.  
  
“You think so?” Jaime said, pretending to look surprised and flattered. Brienne was starting to look miserably embarrassed. There was something more to the story, Jaime thought.  “Was that all, or did she say something else that has you blushing such a lovely shade of red?”  
  
“Don’t ask me to repeat it Jaime. I’ll never hear the end of it from you if I do.”  
  
“Oh, this does sound good! Did she suggest that maybe you shouldn’t be hanging out with such a scoundrel?”  
  
“Oh, I hear _that_ all the time.” Brienne scoffed.  
  
Jaime thought a moment, finger raised to his lips as he considered. “Did she ask if your chastity belt were locked up good and tight?” Jaime asked, and was delighted to see Brienne get even redder and more bashful. “Okay, I give up. What did she say? I promise I won’t ever repeat it.”  
  
“She asked me if you fucked as good as you looked.” Brienne whispered before putting her hands back over her face.  
  
Jaime’s laugh rang out loud and delighted, “Who would have thought the old crone had it in her? Gods, you don’t think she’s planning to seduce me, do you?”  
  
“Jaime!” Brienne laughed, scandalized but finding Jaime’s mirth infectious.  
  
“Just think how she’ll react when I spend the night with you there tonight,” Jaime told her.  
  
“Oh, gods!” Brienne huffed out and let herself fall back on the bed. “She would be listening at the door all night…”  
  
“With Cersei at her side, no doubt,” Jaime said drily. Brienne peaked though her fingers at him to see if he was serious.  
  
“Too soon?” he asked with a crooked grin. Jaime was finding Brienne’s discomfort endearing. He very much wanted to tease her about what the old woman had said and see how many ways she could talk around, but not get near, the subject of the two of them doing more than just sleeping together. “So, I have to know,” Jaime said and lowered his voice, “ _what did you tell her_?”  
  
Brienne sat back up and looked at him somberly for a couple of minutes before saying, “I told her that you fuck even better than you look, and that she better keep her wrinkled old hands off of you ‘cause I have a sword and I’m not afraid to use it.” And then she fell back on the bed laughing at Jaime’s astonishment that she had called his bluff.  
  
In the end Jaime convinced Brienne to send a servant to go to the Maidenvault for her clothes so that she wouldn’t have to face the crone yet.  
  
“That solves the problem for right now,” Jaime told her, “but we have to get past her later tonight, and I may have an idea.”  
  
For several minutes they discussed and finally agreed on Jaime’s plan for getting him into the Maidenvault. Brienne’s clothes were brought and she made him wait outside the room while she dressed. “What is it you think I haven’t seen, Wench?” He called out “Probably for the best, though, you know. If I had to be in there watching you get dressed we might not leave again for hours! You’re sure I can’t help?” He was safe enough to say these things from the other side of a door. Brienne would take them for a joke and he could have the fleeting pleasure of knowing that he was a very long way from joking. He was also loud enough for his guards to hear, which would help with his plans for sneaking into the Maidenvault. Having the Dothrakis believe it was a lover’s tryst would only help their cause.  
  
Not only did most people in the Keep and all of their fellow fighters in the north already know that Jaime and Brienne always slept together, but nearly everyone also assumed they were on far more intimate terms. _So much left unspoken between us while others have already decided we are lovers,_ Jaime thought, _everyone sees it but us._ Brienne was the best friend Jaime had ever had or ever could have, but he wanted so much more. There had been so many times when he thought he could read the wish for more in her eyes as well, before she could hide how she felt. And then there were the other, less subtle clues like drunken kisses that one or the other of them would steal, and the even less subtle little teases Brienne had come to indulge in when they lay next to each other, the sensuous shifting of her hips making his blood pound. For a long time he had believed it to be accidental, something that his naïve, innocent Brienne would never do on purpose, but now he was almost sure that, last night at least, it was completely on purpose. And then there was her dream, and how she had said his name…best not start thinking about _that_ again.  
  
Although, now that he _did_ think of it (and how could he not?), he still owed her for tormenting him on purpose (probably) before they first went to sleep. It might mortify her to have others suggest they were having sex, but it clearly was on her mind. Maybe it was more embarrassing to her _because_ it was on her mind?  
  
When Brienne finally allowed him back into the cell Jaime asked “So how did you sleep last night?” He watched her settle her sword belt on her hips, schooling his face to show only friendly concern, “Any interesting dreams?”  
  
Brienne glanced up from buckling on Oathkeeper, looking caught out for a beat before hiding it under cover of fussing with the dark blue belt at her waist and tugging her black wool tunic into place. Much of the awkwardness in her own skin that had marked Brienne when Jaime had first met her had gradually melted into more confidence and ease, at least when she was clothed in something suited to her. Jaime thought she had never been awkward in armor, though she still acted as though any sort of dress was designed to make her look foolish, and she still managed to look like an ox trying to tiptoe through poppies when she was forced to wear one.  
  
She hadn’t answered his question about having any dreams. “I thought you might have been having a nightmare this morning,” Jaime persisted, “you were breathing hard and I almost woke you up, but then you said my name…” by now he was smirking.  
  
“Did I?” she said blandly.  
  
“Twice.”  
  
“Huh, that does sound nightmarish,” she remarked, her off-hand tone at odds with the blush creeping down her neck.  
  
“I think the phrase you used was ‘oh, Jaime,’” he said, driven to provoke more of a reaction, though he kept himself from mimicking the way she had said it in her sleep.  
  
Brienne walked past him out the door, patting him on the shoulder as she went. “In _your_ dreams.” She said and headed for the stairs knowing that he would follow.  
  
At the bottom of the stairs they parted. Brienne to go meet with the various commanders of the new Silver army, Jaime to go into King’s Landing to meet with the blacksmith about something new he was having made for his stump.  
  
Jamie watched Brienne stride out into the courtyard and thought about another errand he might do while he was in town. He and his Dothrakis walked together to the stables, the three of them looking more like companions than a prisoner and his guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so many things I wanted to cover during Jaime's POV that I just had to go ahead and post this first part and continue with the next chapter. Yeah, it's pretty fluffy and barely moves the plot forward, but this is kind of a love story, so let's all indulge.
> 
> Still trying to stay canon. If you see any glaring errors let me know! As always, your comments are the butter on my bread, the cream in my coffee and the bear grease in Cersei's hair.


	8. Cersei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I should warn you grubs that the first time you actually see a White Walker you may be tempted to piss your small clothes like a babe. Don’t do it! It’s cold enough out there to freeze your balls off, but frozen piss will do it all the faster.” Ser Barristan told them.
> 
> “Except for those of us without balls,” Cersei said blandly. 
> 
> “Really?” said Barristan, “I’ve heard that you have a whole collection.” 
> 
> Cersei POV: Cersei spends a day on the practice field.

“Waters!” bellowed Ser Barristan, “Ector! Out here _now_!” Barristan glowered over at Cersei, limping slowly onto the field as chubby Ector Martin trotted past her enthusiastically. “While I’m still young, Waters!” Barristan called, drawing chuckles from the squires and spectators ranged around the training yard. The blowing snow seemed almost to be coming from Ser Barristan’s long white hair as it streamed out into the wind. Cersei glared at Barristan and did not increase her pace. Her thighs were chafed from the armor, and her right foot ached where she had accidentally struck it with her own practice sword. Her neck ached from the strain of holding her head up and she was sure within a week her neck would be as thick as that freckled freak Beast of Tarth’s was, damn her ugly hide. Barristan had adopted Brienne’s idea that squires should wear their helms as often as possible to become accustomed to them, and not only were Cersei’s neck and shoulders sore, but her beautiful hair was sweaty and tangled, mushed on the top into an unlovely bird’s nest whenever she removed her helm. Cersei was getting even more practice at wearing her gold helm than she had to, as after practice she would wear it all the way back to her quarters in the Maidenvault so that no one would see the state of her hair before she could bathe.

Cersei finally reached the waiting knight and squire Ector, and made a show of standing with her hip jutted out, one hand propped on her waist. The effect was somewhat spoiled when she tried to give an insouciant toss of her hair and only managed to rattle her helm on her head, making her ears ring. She completely ignored the young man, who was also training for his first campaign, and looked up at Ser Barristan with all the insolence she could muster. “Glad you could make it, Waters,” Ser Barristan said sarcastically in his deep, booming voice. Ector, the little whelp, was looking down at Cersei in fascination. Gods, had the kohl around her eyes started to run again? Yesterday it had smudged and spread without her knowledge and when she finally saw herself in the mirror in her room she had been unable to hold back her little scream of frustration. Her lady maid Agnes, who had just entered the room, had seemed quite frightened, if her expression was anything to go by. At least Cersei could still intimidate _someone_.

Cersei was not supposed to have a lady maid, since she was now actually lower in the social order than her maid.  But she had managed to convince Godfrey of Boane, the man who had the job of managing the keep’s many women assigned to care for nobles, to send her one secretly. For this favor she had had to provide a favor of her own, and the memory of the man’s hairy, sweaty body heaving above her as he took his pleasure still made her want to retch. It was far from the first time she had traded sex for a service done her, but she no longer had the advantage of hand-picking who she wanted to do her bidding. She did not regret Osmund Kettleblack, who had been generously endowed and experienced, and even Moon Boy had the advantage of at least finishing quickly. Not so Godfrey of Boane, who she had come to think of as Godfrey the Groan, who had labored for nigh on three quarters of an hour before finally giving a long, multi-syllabic grunt and collapsing on top of her, kissing her sloppily with his fetid breath until she had managed to wriggle out from under him.

Cersei’s musings were interrupted by Ser Barristan thrusting an unlit torch into her hand. “Pay attention, Waters, unless you want to become a wight yourself!” he bellowed right into her face, so close that his breath warmed her nose a little. Her nose was numb with cold and she briefly considered getting him to yell at it more often; at least _he_ didn’t reek of old cod.

“I would not become a wight,” Cersei said with certainty, “If I fell in battle someone would torch me before that happened.”

“Unless they looked forward to being able to cut you down again when you rose from the dead,” Barristan told her without a pause, as though he had already considered the prospect. “Now as you can see, you are on torch duty this time. As Ector battles our wight you are to attempt to light it afire.”

Cersei turned resignedly to the dummy wight they had erected in the yard, a white shrouded pell with huge blue glass baubles sewn onto its head. _It looks just like my brother’s pet monster with those ridiculous blue eyes_ , thought Cersei, _only not as ugly_. She took up her stance and raised her unlit torch, waiting for Ector to get in position as well.

“Today we graduate to combat against a live opponent,” Ser Barristan announced to cheers from the other trainees and a groan from Cersei. An armored man strolled into the yard, and raised his hand to acknowledge their applause. He was not so tall as Jaime, but a good deal taller than Cersei, and seemed to be enjoying the attention. He pretended to lurch with his arms out like an undead creature, to the delight of the men. Even Ser Barristan chuckled. “Now, Ser Avery is going to go a little easy at first and pretend to be a wight. Soon he will be gracing us with his _terrifying_ White Walker impersonation. I should warn you grubs that the first time you actually see a White Walker you may be tempted to piss your small clothes like a babe. _Don’t do it_! It’s cold enough out there to freeze your balls off, but frozen piss will do it all the faster.”

“Except for those of us without balls,” Cersei said blandly.

“Really?” said Barristan, “I’ve heard that you have a whole collection.”

“Oh yes, and one pair of them are quite old and shriveled, if I recall,” Cersei said acidly. She wished she had been more thorough about removing his when she had dismissed him from the Kingsguard on grounds of age. _Gods, could that man hold a grudge_. _You’d think I had actually chopped his balls off with an arakh or something_. Cersei never imagined that someday he would be in a position of power over her, and with the blessing of that tart, Daenerys Targaryen.

Barristan’s nostrils flared in barely controlled anger. “Ser Avery is going to come at you and Ector. Do you remember what to do with your torch?”

 _Shove it up your arse_? thought Cersei, but wisely she just nodded her head. Ector took up his sword and shield, and Cersei stood a little behind him with her practice torch raised to the side. She had already been scolded on many occasions for holding it so close to her partner that she would most likely catch him on fire, and she didn’t want _that_ lecture again. _Waters, you’re supposed to_ kill _the wights, not_ help _them! Waters, if I see you almost torch a living man again I’ll put_ you _out - in Blackwater Bay! Waters, you’re more useless than a eunuch in a whorehouse!_ Yak, yak, yak, on and on.

Ser Avery took up his stance and lurched toward Cersei and Ector. The deranged look on his face might have looked silly if at that moment a crack of thunder hadn’t rumbled over the entire Keep and panicked the two fighters. Ector made a wild swing that would have hit Cersei  in the head had she not darted forward with her torch and swung it as hard as she could up between Ser Avery’s legs, dropping him like a raven with an arrow through its gut. The yard was suddenly silent except for Ser Avery’s whimpers as he rolled on the ground with his hands clutched between his legs. Then the applause erupted and drowned out the poor man’s agony. Someone thought to go to him and pull off his helm, revealing a head of thick blond hair and a handsome face. Cersei looked down at him speculatively.

 Maybe…

“ _You bitch_!” Ser Avery cursed up at her.

Maybe _not_.

“You’ve done enough damage for now, Waters.” Ser Barristan said, waving her back among the others, “And may I remind you all that wights and White Walkers cannot be felled with just a blow to the balls. If that were true Waters here would be our secret weapon.” Cersei limped over to the hay bales, swept away some snow and then sat down and shivered. With the earlier thunder a new storm had blown in and brought with it stinging sleet, and the lightning had begun to flash in crazy zigzags across the greenish sky. The endless thunder joined the ringing in her aching head. _Maybe they’ll cancel practice on account of weather_ , she thought hopefully.

“This,” pronounced Ser Barristan, holding his muscular arms out wide to indicate the wild wind and blowing snow, “Is the perfect training weather! Gird your loins, lads, we need to take advantage of this and stay out here until it clears.” Cersei was near tears at this news, but stopped herself from crying for fear of making a mess of her kohl again. She sat despondently on a hay bale and watched as Ser Avery made it to his feet again and readied himself with a grimace to go at the next pair of trainees. He made what seemed a very exaggerated lurch toward them. _Well, see_ , thought Cersei, _I’ve certainly improved his lurching technique with my strike. Wouldn’t Beastly Brienne be proud of how I used my hips to deliver it more powerfully_?

Cersei grew bored of watching the training quickly, and as her eyes roved over the training yard for something more interesting to see she spotted Brienne, standing out of the snow under an awning and surrounded by half a score of soldiers. She was wearing a well-cut tunic of black wool cinched in at her waist with a deep blue belt, along with soft blue leather breaches that hugged the long length of her thigh from the bottom of the tunic to the tops of her thick black boots, which ended a hand-span below her knee before draping in a fold over the top. _Her_ hair was brushed and gleaming around her shoulders, and she was laughing with the men around her. _Gods, she looks like a horse ready for the knacker man with those hideous teeth_ , thought Cersei with satisfaction, _ugly enough to make a grumkin run away screaming_. The men with her seemed to hang on her every word, but no doubt that was akin to the fascination people tended to pay to gruesome things, like heads on spikes and Daenerys’ attempts at decorating.

From the corner of her eye Cersei saw Jaime and his guards enter the yard from the stables, obviously returned from riding into town. Jaime carried a wrapped bundle against his side with his right arm. He looked so handsome, despite his horrible stump, which was covered now against the cold by a suede vambrace dyed a rich red. His cloak blew out behind him in the fierce wind as he strode forward, and the dark gold of his hair was caught in a cross breeze. Jaime shook his hair out of his eyes, and even from here the sparkling green of them was apparent. Cersei remembered with a tug how those eyes had used to look at her. She stood up from the hay bale, thinking he would be coming to greet her, but he seemed not to even notice her there. Instead he made his way to Brienne’s side and placed his left hand at the small of her back, standing close to her so that the two of them seemed to be holding court with the other soldiers. Jaime laughed loudly at something Brienne said, and the great gargoyle of a woman put her hand on his shoulder and said something close to his ear, making him guffaw loudly. _This is all for my benefit_ , Cersei told herself, _to make me jealous. Like I could be jealous of a monstrous moose like her_. Cersei realized she was still standing, waiting for Jaime to come to her, and abruptly sat down again to watch the practice and wait for her next turn at the wight. When she looked back again, Jaime had left and his creature along with him.

The storm did not calm for a long while and it was full dark and painfully cold before Cersei was able to limp back to the Maidenvault. She had decided to try to press Brienne for information about where Jaime had gone earlier in the day. At the door to the vault Cersei asked the crone on duty if Brienne was within her own chamber.

At first the woman looked taken aback at seeing Cersei dripping wet with melted snow and still in her helmet, but she was always pleased to have a bit of gossip to share.

“Oh, no, mum,” said the old woman in a low, confiding voice, “the Lady Brienne did not come in last night, just sent for her clothes this morning, bold as bread.” The woman glanced around and put her withered claw of a hand on Cersei’s wrist, “I’m guessing she was with the former queen’s brother, mum, the tall good-looking one that came to ask after her yesterday. Do you know the one, mum? Green eyes, looked like he’d be good in the trenches, if you know what I mean.” She winked at Cersei, who clenched her teeth against the desire to kick the frail old thing.

“My brother, you mean.” Said Cersei.

“No, mum, the old queen’s brother. The one used to be such a beauty?”

She does not recognize me in armor, Cersei thought. That is all. So the little slut has spent the night with Jaime? There must be some mistake. Jaime would never allow such a vile creature into his bed.

A male voice interrupted her thoughts. “Cersei?” it was Tyrion, standing behind her, grinning. She had no idea how long he had been standing there listening to the old woman’s prattle.

“Brother.” She said coolly, looking down her nose at him.

“This is your brother?” asked the crone, “why, he’s the spittin’ image of the old queen’s brother he is. Heard he shot their father with a crossbow while he was taking a shit, he did. Ah, but he disappeared long ago, now, didn’t he, mum?”

Cersei tried to ignore the woman as she kept mumbling about the past and took Tyrion’s arm to lead him a little down the corridor, out of earshot of the old woman. She finally stopped beneath a smoky torch set in an iron sconce, between the doors to the servants’ hallways and the storage rooms. Tyrion’s grin had grown wider, and when they stopped he looked up at Cesei.

 “Mum?” he said, and put his hand over his mouth in mock outrage. “You’re at least a year away from being _her_ mum, aren’t you?”

“Oh shut up, Tyrion. If you must be a turd go lie in the yard.”

“Which is presumably where you’ve come from,” said Tyrion soberly, only his eyes giving away his mirth. “Do remove your helm, sister, it must be terribly uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“I have heard that if you wear a helm for too long without allowing your head to breath that your hair will start to thin.” Tyrion told her, “and you wouldn’t want that.”

Gods, that was all she needed, a bald spot atop everything else. Cersei unstrapped the helmet and pulled it off her head. Let Tyrion just _dare_ to mention what a mess her hair was. Tyrion gazed at her for a long moment, resting his finger against his mouth as he considered her. Finally, as though coming to a decision, he said “You look like a demented raccoon.”

Suddenly her maid’s frightened look of the day before and Ector’s rude fascination with her, and even the old crone’s confusion made sense: they had all seen her with the black kohl smeared all around her eyes. “Oooh!” She hissed, stamping her little foot and making fists of her hands at her sides. She jumped up and down in a perfectly childish fit, venting her frustration until Tyrion remarked mildly that she was only enhancing the resemblance to a rabid raccoon, or maybe a bothered badger.

“Why are you here, you little bastard?” She hissed.

“Ah, so I’m the bastard now, am I? Well, I was going to invite you to accompany me to dinner _after you’ve bathed,”_ he told her.“I understand there are some particularly fine new decorations in the dining hall that you might enjoy. Afterwards I thought we might go to the Queen’s Hall and listen to the bards. I understand there is some new song about the Maid of Tarth that you might enjoy hearing.”

Cersei considered this idea. Any song about the Towering Trollop of Tarth had to be rich in satire, and finding out that Brienne had been out all night, possibly with Jaime, made her want to witness any embarrassment headed her way. “I will come.” She told him simply.

“I will meet you here in about an hour, sweet sister, after your ablutions.” Cersei turned to go, “Oh, and Cersei? You might want to put your helmet back on. Don’t want to frighten the help, you know.”

A few moments later Cersei was relieved to be in her rooms where she demanded a warm bath and a shampoo from Agnes. She stripped out of her sweaty clothes and examined herself in the mirror. No fresh bruises today, but the ones from the past several days were turning ugly shades of yellow and purple. She looked appraisingly at her breasts in the mirror; there was no support built into her armor like there was in her dresses, but they didn’t seem too much the worse for wear. She peered at the thatch of hair between her legs, and decided it might be getting unruly. Her maid had promised to wax her in a special style, something called a Braavosi that was supposed to be in vogue among the fashionable courtesans of the islands. Cersei had always had servants to groom her nether regions, a little secret that even Jaime had never known about. _One must maintain some little mysteries_ , she thought with a smile, thinking of her lovers and how they always said other women just couldn’t compare to her. While Agnes was at it she could use some lemons to lighten Cersei’s hair to its more natural color. Jaime’s hair had grown dark with the lack of sun, but she was not giving in to that yet. 

She stepped into her steaming bath and sunk gratefully up to her chin, letting the day’s stress unravel. Agnes came to wash her hair with some new soap that felt extra luxurious, though it didn’t smell as pleasant as what she was used to. _We all must make do_ , she thought drowsily as Agnes combed through her hair again and again to get the tangles out before wrapping her wet hair in a thick towel to dry. _I will wear my red dress with the gold trim along the bodice_ , Cersei thought, _the low cut one with the metal wires hidden under the bosom. Thank the seven they haven’t taken away my dresses._  

It was after she had helped Cersei from the bath but before she began to dress her and style her hair that Agnes discovered the reason the “soap” had been so lovely for getting out Cersei’s tangles: she had accidentally used the bear grease that was kept to ease chilblains and chapped lips. _There is no way_ , thought Agnes, _that_ _I won’t be gettin’ a lashing when she figures that out_. _I’ll just have to sleep with Godfrey the Moan and get reassigned_. She slipped out the door, taking some of Cersei’s moon tea with her. She hoped the Moan would get his grunting over with a little more quickly this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling sorry for her yet? Really?
> 
> As always, I love comments! 
> 
> Jamie has the next POV chapter.


	9. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime stepped back several paces and began to swing the blade, picking up momentum as he went. Faster and stronger the strokes flew, cutting swaths through the blowing snow, the blade seeming to sing as it rent the cold air. The Dothrakis were drawn by the movement and stood at the mouth of the shop watching Ser Jaime, who even to them looked like a hero out of legend. 
> 
> Jaime takes care of some things in King's Landing. Also takes place concurrently with Cersei's chapter.  
> I've used a couple of Dothraki words in this one - translation in chapter notes at the bottom.

Jaime and his Dothraki _loshak_ entered the stable, its double doors thrown open to let in the daylight. Grooms were busily sweeping and carting out used horse bedding and manure and shouting bawdy insults to one another across the rows upon rows of stalls. The sound of horses nickering and occasionally squealing at each other aggressively blended with the broody _plock plock_ murmuring of the chickens underfoot. As they stepped across the threshold a large brindled dog tore past them, chased by a much smaller reddish dog that was yipping and crying as though it were the one being chased. Both dogs disappeared up a row of stalls, though the yipping continued.

The younger Dothraki, Lavakhat, hoisted Jaime’s riding gear from one of the racks and accompanied him to Ser Fluffy Tail. It was not a thing normally done by a Dothraki man, to saddle another man’s horse, but the Dothrakis had come to respect Jaime, knowing that he had not only survived the loss of his sword hand but had become an accomplished _sindarine qora_ fighter as well. Jaime’s easy charm had earned their regard as well as their respect, and his choice of the tall, scarred warrior woman as his mate had their approval as well. Even though it was uncommon for a Dothraki woman to bring attention to herself in the Dothraki culture, much less to fight side by side with the men, something about Brienne seemed to fascinate the Dothrakis.

As Lavakhat strode on his bowed legs to Ser Fluffy Tail’s stall the dozens of tiny bells in the long braid that hung to the middle of his back jingled. The bells were a symbol of all the men the Dothraki had killed, but to Jaime they sounded festive rather than formidable, something he was unlikely to share with the fierce warrior.

At the stall Jaime’s horse widened his nostrils and snuffled at the Dothraki, but his ears remained trustfully forward. Jaime had always believed that horses were better judges of character than most people tended to be. He had sometimes amused himself picturing various kings he had known surrounded by an elite council of horses and dogs with a duty to sniff out corruption among the court. Jaime reflected that most of the kings he had known would be the first to be called out by the animals as unfit and untrustworthy. The horses would flatten their ears and bare their teeth, the dogs would bristle and growl, and a new king would be chosen only with their approval.

Ser Fluffy Tail nosed past Lavakhat and snorted a friendly _hurr hurr hurr_ greeting to Jaime, stretching his neck over the stall to reach him.  “There’s my man, Reggie!” Jaime told him, rubbing his knuckles between the horse’s ears. “Ready to go into town?”

“Reegie?” Lavakhat asked in his heavy Dothraki accent, indicating the horse, “not Sor Floffy Tile?” Apparently Brienne had been talking to Jaime’s guards again.

“Sor - Ser Fluffy Tail, yes.” Jaime nodded. It was too much trouble to explain the two different names since he could only speak a few Dothraki words and phrases, and none at all that involved cute names for horses. Besides, the respect of his guards and his need of their aid tonight might be compromised if he had to pantomime the meaning of “fluffy,” or explain that his woman had purposely told them the horse’s silly name just to embarrass him. Brienne was more conversant in Dothraki than Jaime, and seemed to become more so by the day.

“Floffy, _jadat_ Floffy,” Lavakhat crooned to the horse, releasing him from the stall and hooking a rope to his bridle. He tied him to a railing and began to saddle him.

Jaime took a moment to rub Sean between the ears as well. “Do you miss your girl?” he asked the horse, giving him a scritch at the curve of his cheekbone. “I promise we’ll all go for a ride soon. What’s that? You want me to bring you some apples sometime? And bring Brienne, too?” The Dothraki glanced at Jaime in amusement, probably thinking it would be hard for him to eat either of these horses if he had to. Jaime gave the horse a final pat and worked on strapping on his golden hand, which, despite Brienne’s dislike of it, was useful for things like mounting and riding a horse.

Lavakhat handed Ser Fluffy’s reins to Jaime and he swung up on the horse easily, glad to be in the saddle again. Lavakhat led the way out of the stable where Hemikh was waiting with the Dothraki mounts, which were both smaller than Jaime’s horse. The Dothraki horses rippled with clean muscle and grace, and Jaime knew they were valued for their speed and stamina, both useful traits to the nomadic warriors. These were two of the horses Daenerys had brought over the sea with her, intending to breed them with the larger destriers that were more common to Westeros.

As they rode into the courtyard Jaime twisted in his saddle hoping to catch a glimpse of Brienne, but was disappointed to see only the new trainees awaiting their turn at practice with Ser Barristan on the training field. He thought he saw Cersei among them, a shorter, bustier figure, but he wasn't interested enough to stop scanning for Brienne’s tall form. Not finding her he faced forward, Ser Fluffy’s reins resting lightly in his left and golden hand, and followed the Dothraki out the gate.

Once he and his _loshak_ left the yards of the Keep they allowed their mounts to go at their own pace. Ser Fluffy Tail pulled into the lead, stretching his long dark legs, his white sock flashing out as he cantered down Aegon’s Hill into the sprawling city of King’s Landing. The stink of the city rose to meet them, and Jaime was nearly overwhelmed by the memories they evoked in him, stretching back over more than half his lifetime ago.

The brightest memory was of himself at fifteen, already an accomplished swordsman, and freshly sworn into Aerys’ Kingsguard. His white cloak had been new and unsoiled, and in his pride he had felt the same of himself. It seemed like several lifetimes ago when that shining youth had ridden into King’s Landing, full of promise and set upon honor and glory.  How quickly had the honor of being one of Aerys’ chosen seven darkened and become a hateful thing? It seemed a blink of time between the fond memories and the rueful, his ideals sullied long before he had betrayed his king and earned the name of Kingslayer. Even now, when his reasons for killing the Mad King were known, he was still considered, in King’s Landing at least, a man with shit for honor. The good he had done then and since was nothing compared to the satisfaction people would continue to take in slandering a disgraced knight.

The Kingsguard had been disbanded while Jaime had been with Brienne rescuing Sansa Stark. Tommen’s Hand, Mace Tyrell, had ordered the Kingsguard replaced by a larger but less elite group of knights to be known as the Kingsmen. The Kingsguard had become a sorry enough group of men by the time Brienne had found Jaime in the Riverlands, but after Ser Robert Strong had been elevated to the white cloak it was truly a farce. Jaime had felt guilty about not having been there to fight for the Kingsguard’s continuance, but he knew he could have done nothing to stop its disbanding. Restoring the Kingsguard to its former glory had become just another tarnished vow that Jaime had been unable to keep. Seen in a more positive light, the demise of the  Kingsguard and its vows had freed Jaime up to join the battle against the Others in the north and to stay at Brienne’s side. He had never had a taste for politics and being a part of the effort to protect the realm suited him.

The three men rode along the easternmost road through King’s Landing, headed past the Fishmonger’s Square to the Street of Steel, where Tobho Mott’s armory held the place of honor at the top of the street. They would be closer to the Great Sept of Baelor than Jaime would have liked. It seemed to him that the nearer he got to the sept the more the memory of his father’s decaying body assaulted his senses. The remembered smell of his lord father’s rotting flesh and the inescapable mental image of his smirking corpse always brought him back to those dark days. Lord Tywin Lannister had been gone for years and the Tower of the Hand with him, but even in death he cast his long shadow over Keep and city.

The day was cold and snow flurries eddied around them like gnats. Soot and waste had blackened the snow on the sides of the road, and the smallfolk in the street cringed back from the foreign strangeness of the mounted Dothrakis. It felt good to Jaime to be out on his horse with the wind whipping in his hair and making his cloak billow out over Ser Fluffy’s back. He drew in a deep breath, and even though it had the stink of King’s Landing in it, the way the cold air filled his lungs was satisfying. Today felt much like freedom to him despite the tunic with the silver dragon and his guards. Ser Fluffy Tail strutted like the knight he was, neck arched and black mane and tail flying in the wind. All the day lacked was Brienne and Sean by their side.

“The Street of Steel is just up ahead here,” he called back to his guards, “up at the top is Mott’s forge.” Jaime slowed his horse and navigated up the row of blacksmiths. Mott’s armory was at the very top and loomed out over the other shops like a mounted lord observing peasants; benign but obviously better than the others. Jaime had done a lot of business with Tobho Mott over the years, purchasing armor and weapons and even drinking a cup of ale with the man from time to time. Mott was the best smith in King’s Landing if you had the coin to pay. Jaime may have been stripped of his lands, but his fortune was too varied and his connections to wide to make him poor, so he was able to continue to patronize the finest merchants.

Mott had made Jaime’s gold hand, and designed the complicated series of straps and buckles that held it on and made it useful for more than decoration, as well as making them easy enough to fasten using only his left hand. The hand had to be a part of Jaime in a way that allowed him to use the remaining strength in his right arm to obey his commands, whether using it for leverage, balance or for knocking out teeth. Lacking fingers and a thumb anything he wore on his stump would not give him dexterity, but Jaime had begun to think maybe he still might have some use for his right arm even without the hand.

As they entered the yard to Tobho Mott’s place they could see him working at his forge. Mott had about ten years on Jaime, but looked even older at first with his greying ginger beard and the soot of his trade sunk into the lines on his face, though no one could ever take him for frail or old with his muscles bulging from years at the forge. Even in the cold he wore no more than leather trews and apron, and his thatch of faded red hair stood up in the rising heat from the forge like a little flame. Tobho looked up and saw Jaime and the Dothrakis and called out a welcome, settling the sword he had been working on in a barrel of water to cool. Jaime swung off his horse and the two embraced. The blacksmith held Jaime by the shoulders at arm’s length, looking him up and down. A wide grin split his craggy face. “Ah, boy-o, look at you! I never thought to see that pretty head of yours again!”

“As you see, it is right where it was last time.” Jaime told him, returning the smile, “I was afraid I was going to have to pay you for a golden head to go with the hand.”

“Aye, I thought that too,” said Mott, “but with your swelled head can you imagine what I would have had to charge!” They both laughed.

“Mott, I’d like you to meet my Dothraki _loshak_ , they guard me day and night to keep me from running back to fight in the north before my time.” Jaime gestured to the men behind him, who were just dismounting. Hemikh came forward first and he and Mott clasped forearms. Hemikh was of an age with Mott, and their shoulders and arms were similarly muscled. Unlike Lavakhat, Hemikh’s braid only hung to his shoulder blades and had far fewer bells. Someone must have taken his braid in a fight a few years ago; it could be why the proud warrior was assigned as Jaime’s guard, though he didn’t seem to mind. Lavakhat came forward as well, clasping Mott’s forearm in turn and holding the reins of the three horses in his other hand.

“Stable’s around the side there,” Mott told him, waving toward a tall building, “You can give them to young Toby and he’ll see they’re taken care of.”

Lavakhat took the horses and Jaime turned back to Mott. “Do you remember you asked what kind of weapon took my hand off?” he asked the smith.

“I do, it was some Dothraki piece of steel, wasn't it?” Mott raised his bushy eyebrows at Jaime and then flicked his eyes to Hemikh.

“An arakh, yes.” Jaime said, “Hemikh, would you show yours to my friend here?” Hemikh drew the curved sword and held it hilt-out to Mott, who made a low whistle as he took it and held it up to look it over.

“Not elegant, no,” he pronounced, “and not a blade I would think of for chopping.” He saw Jaime wince and muttered “Sorry,” around a grim smile. “Still, I can see how this would be very useful from horseback. The curve of the blade would give it some extra momentum to deepen the cut. More of a slicing weapon than a hacking one, I think.” Mott held the arakh up, gesturing toward the little lawn just in front of the shop and asked the Dothraki, “Do you mind?”

At Hemikh’s nod he stepped out holding the blade and swung it in a combination of moves, _head, head, side slash down the torso, hip_ , _head_ , stepping light on his feet as though he battled an imaginary foe. “Yes,” he said, “yes, I see.” He handed the blade back to Hemikh, nodding in approval. Lavakhat had returned to see his dance as well, and seemed amused at this Westerosi man wielding the arakh. Tobho Mott had spent some time in Braavos training with a master there and studying their armorers. Handling weapons was part of his trade and he was good at it. He was also the man who had re-forged Ned Stark’s Valyrian sword Ice into two smaller swords; one of those was Brienne’s blade, Oathkeeper. Men who could re-forge Valyrian steel were even more rare than the blades themselves.

Jaime had watched the display with the arakh as though it did not bother him at all. He was pleased that no one could detect how he quailed inside to see that blade sweeping down, and he felt the phantom fingers of his missing right hand clench in agony. He hoped he would not suffer nightmares in the night because of today’s display. Overcoming your fear was important, he felt, but his bravado in purposely calling attention to the weapon that had maimed him left him feeling a little foolish.

The Dothraki were gazing curiously around the forge, and Mott gestured to the armor and weapons arrayed on and hanging from every surface, “Go ahead, look around.” He told them, and they both looked as though they were young boys set free in a toymaker’s shop. It didn’t take long for them to find Mott’s Wall of Daggers and they fell to exclaiming over them to each other in the Dothraki tongue.

While the men were busy Jaime asked Mott, “You got the drawings I sent? Were you able to decipher them?”

“Aye, but it took some doing. They looked like something my six year old would draw, so finally I asked _him_ to explain them to me.” Mott gave a great guffaw at that, but it was only the truth. He found the crumpled parchments on a table and smoothed them out so that he and Jaime could discuss them. While they were discussing the drawings Tobho’s wife came across the yard holding a baby in one arm and brushing chicken feed off her apron with the other.

“Moira!” Mott called out to her, waving her over. “You’ve not met my youngest yet, Ser.” He said to Jaime, “A daughter, at last!”

Moira gave Jaime a shy, proud smile as she stopped to stand in front of Jaime and her husband. Jaime knew the couple had a veritable herd of boys, so he was happy to know they had gotten the hoped-for girl.

“Here,” Moira said, placing the baby in Jaime’s arms before her could stop her. “There now, Merry, see the handsome knight?” The babe fussed a moment in Jaime’s arms and then settled and stared up at him with her round blue eyes. Moira took Jaime’s right arm and positioned his gold hand to support the baby a little better. Jaime had never held a baby before and was surprised at the feel of it; he had assumed it would be as soft, yet it was more solid-feeling, and the movement of the thing as it shifted itself within its little blanket and then lifted its little arms up at him was unexpected. He thought briefly of his own children and how he had never been allowed to hold any of them; he had thought the familiar ache of it was long behind him, but the loss was still with him. He gave it his left forefinger to hold and was given a tiny, toothless smile in return. He looked at the chubby little fist holding onto his finger, surprised by the strength of its grasp. He tried to pull his hand away so that he could move his left hand to support the baby a little better, but the thing was having none of it.

“Och, did I not tell you the girl would have the men wrapped around her little finger?” said Mott proudly, “What do you think of our bonny Merry Pie, Ser Jaime?”

“It’s, um, it’s really cute.” Jaime said, clearly out of his depth.

“ _She_ is really cute,” corrected the child’s mother, deftly unwinding the girl’s tiny fist from Jaime’s finger and positioning his hand to better support Merry’s back. “Here now,” she cooed, “Hold her closer to you. She don’t bite.” Moira gently pushed Jaime’s arms with the baby closer to his chest. _Are all babies this warm?_ Merry reached out again, and not finding a finger she closed her hand around a lock of Jaime’s hair and pulled on it. There was nothing for it but to do what the child wanted and let her pull his head down. Moira and Mott laughed to see the great Kingslayer being so easily controlled. He tried to look up through his hair at the proud parents as Merry reached out and grabbed his beard with her other hand.

“There now,” laughed the blacksmith, “she likes you I think.”

“Mm” said Jaime, and shifted the girl higher onto his chest so he could lift his head while she held onto his hair.

“I hear you have some giantess of woman who fights beside you and shares your bed,” Mott winked at Jaime, “when are yougoing to marry her and get yourself some brats to have around underfoot?”

“Maybe someday,” Jaime said lightly, “if she’ll have me.”

“From what _I_ hear, she’s already had you,” said Mott with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“Toby!” chided Moira, smacking him on his arm, but smiling up at Jaime.

“Now that there’s no Kingsguard…” began Mott.

“I swear you’re worse than a fishwife,” said Moira, relieving Jaime of the baby. “Let the poor man alone. You’re making him blush.” She cuddled Merry to her chest and with a dip of her head left them to return to the warmth of the house.

Jaime could feel himself blushing a little, something he wasn’t accustomed to.  Thankfully Mott dropped the subject and they went back to the drawings. The blacksmith took more measurements of Jaime’s right arm and noted them on fresh parchment, along with drawing more sketches as he and Jaime talked.

“I’ll do what I can before you have to leave for the north,” he told Jaime, “but they might not be as pretty as you’re used to.”

Jaime laughed. “My vanity isn’t what it once was, Toby,” he said, “whatever you can do is appreciated.”

“I do have something for you though,” Mott said, as he rolled up the parchment. He stepped into an alcove of the shop and brought out an oblong object wrapped in coarse cloth. He handed it to Jaime and stepped back with hands on hips, “Open it!” he told Jaime impatiently.

Jaime rested the gift in his metal hand while he unwound the cloth with his left, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Is this…?” He looked up at Mott with an almost feral grin, his eyes alight. Mott was nodding, pleased with Jaime’s reaction. In his hands he held a short sword with an iron cap to fit over his stump and a clever series of straps to attach it to his arm and over his shoulder. Mott reached out and lifted it from Jaime’s hands.

“Take off your hand and we’ll see how it fits.” He said, grinning so widely that his own eyes were almost hidden in the sooty wrinkles around them.

Jaime’s heart was thundering in his ribs, and he could barely get the hand off for his excitement to try on the new weapon. Mott handed Jaime the sword and he rested its point on the ground, placing his booted feet on either side of it to hold it in place. He placed his stump in the padded cap and looped the longer of the leather straps over his shoulder and secured the series of small buckles along his arm, Mott commenting along the way about the best way to strap things, but not stepping in to help; he knew that Jaime needed to be able to do this for himself.

When he was done Jaime stepped back and raised the blade, admiring it. He rotated his forearm and wrist side to side enjoying the feel of it, the balance, the promise of power. Then he saw something else in the blade and stopped to look at it. “is that Dragonglass?” he asked, looking up at Mott in astonishment. There imbedded in the blade was a darker, shinier object in the same shape as the sword it graced.

“Aye,” said Mott, if possible looking even more pleased. Jaime stepped back several paces and began to swing the blade, picking up momentum as he went. Faster and stronger the strokes flew, cutting swaths through the blowing snow, the blade seeming to sing as it rent the cold air. The Dothrakis were drawn by the movement and stood at the mouth of the shop watching Ser Jaime, who even to them looked like a hero out of legend.

 _Just wait until I show Brienne_ , thought Jaime, and just then he wished more than anything that she were there to see and celebrate this new discovery with him. _She may not like my golden hand_ , he mused, _but she’s going to love this_.

While Jaime and Mott had been discussing plans and trying out the new short sword the snow had become thicker and the wind more persistent. Jaime re-wrapped his new weapon and strapped his hand back on. Lavakhat purchased long dagger and Hemikh a bronzed vambrace from Mott.

“Did you get the other packet I sent?” Jaime asked Mott when they were all but ready to go.

“The gemstones and your wretched drawing? I did. I sent them on to Bakon the Silversmith for you; he’s the best in King’s Landing. Says he’ll make sure you have what you need before you march.”

Jaime thanked his friend and he and his guards mounted their horses and rode back down the Street of Steel in the gathering storm. The torches started to light up here and there as merchants set up for a few more hours’ trade. Jaime let the way to the Street of Bread, where he had planned to purchase some food that was neither pigs’ feet or fish. While he was there he was also able to buy some carrots for the horses that were only a little withered. As he was paying for his parcels he noticed a few roses in a cup by the proprietor’s bench. Jaime had heard that the few hothouses that might have grown flowers in the city had been given over to growing foodstuff for the winter. He curiously picked a rose out of the cup and saw that it was not a real rose at all. He turned it curiously in his fingers and saw that it was finely sculpted to look like a budding rose out of very soft leather dyed a rich red with a long green stem. He bought it for Brienne and tucked it away with his other goods. He was betting that Hyle had never given her a rose.

With his business in King’s Landing concluded they all rode as quickly as they could back to the Red Keep. They were on Aegon’s Hill when a lightning bolt shattered the sky and the thunder that cracked with it sent the three startled horses skittering on the slippery snow before they regained their footing and raced for the stables, where grooms were waiting to take the horses inside. Jaime hesitated, feeling guilty for not seeing Ser Fluffy Tail settled in, but he had spotted Brienne standing under an awning out of the snow, talking and laughing with about ten men out near the training grounds. He quickly took off his golden hand and put the suede vambrace Brienne had given him about a year ago over his stump before going out to join her.

Feeling foolishly possessive he strode out into the storm with his guards behind him, walking directly to Brienne and taking his place by her side.  He put his hand on her lower back and was glad she didn’t stiffen or jump in surprise. Brienne turned to give him a smile and he could see bright humor in her eyes. “Your sister just hit poor Ser Ector so hard in the bollocks with a torch that he was on the ground whimpering for five full minutes,” she told him. _How very like Cersei_ , he thought, and laughed out loud. Brienne put her hand on his shoulder and said into his ear “I think I know where she got the nickname ‘ballbuster’ from now,” and Jaime laughed even harder. Jaime looked over the men that had been standing with Brienne when he arrived, and moved his hand from her back to her hand, claiming it.

“My lords,” he nodded to the men and gave them a cutting smile, more dismissive than friendly. It did not pass unnoticed that all of them were closer in age to Brienne than to him. “I should get my lady in out of this storm.” And before Brienne knew it he was pulling her by the hand toward Traitor’s Walk, the guards following slowly behind, barely even paying attention to them.  

“Jaime,” she said, tugging back on his hand until he stopped walking, “You know we’ve _fought_ in far worse conditions than this. Since when do I need to be rescued from a storm?”

“Actually, I was rescuing me. _Brrr_.” He grinned at her. “And I need you to come help me shave for tonight. I could do it, but you leave fewer nicks.”

“You are so lazy!” she said, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably. “What’s in the packages?”

“None of your business,” he told her, “for now, anyway. I’ll show you later.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loshak = guards  
> sindarine qora = left hand  
> Lavakhat = to be loud  
> Hemikh = pelt  
> There's a good Dothraki dictionary online for those interested.
> 
> Fluff is Coming.
> 
> And for those curious, this story isn't anywhere near the end. My plan is for this fic to go on for a long while. Cersei hasn't even tried to geld her first White Walker yet.
> 
> Reviews make me write faster, won't you leave one? Thanks!


	10. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What brought that on?” She waved her other hand vaguely, trying to indicate the kiss.
> 
> Jaime looked down at their hands on his knee, his thumb brushing along hers softly. “I found myself thinking about you and missing you all day, Brienne.” He admitted, “Besides, I owed you for throwing me off when I was about to kiss you last night.”

Upon entering Traitor’s Walk Jaime and Brienne saw there was an old tapestry on the floor just inside the entrance of the tower. The tapestry had been painstakingly folded so that Robert Baratheon’s woven face was right where one had to step on it upon entering the tower. From what could be seen of the scene King Robert was heroically posed, sword held aloft, among a storm-tossed fleet of ships against a darkened sky with flames rising from a seaside castle behind him. It was obvious the tapestry had been set there as a place to wipe one’s boots upon entering the tower, and Robert’s face was smeared with wet mud and what appeared to be bits of horse manure tracked in from the stables.

“I see Daenerys has been going through the storerooms,” Jaime remarked, stopping to look at the tapestry.

“Is that King Robert?” asked Brienne, “He was quite handsome, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Jaime said, not trying to hide his annoyance, “That is Robert, and if I’m not mistaken this depicts the Greyjoy Rebellion. Though Robert wasn’t in this battle. It was Stannis that was Master of Ships. And no, I don’t find him handsome.”

“Too bad this doesn’t show Stannis; then we could wipe our boots on _his_ face.” Brienne remarked. 

“Robert will do just fine.” Jaime said shortly, stamping his boots on the tapestry to remove the snow and muck from the stables. Brienne followed suit, amused by the childish satisfaction Jaime took in tromping on his sister’s late husband. Was he still jealous? Whether he was or not there were no lack of reasons for him to hate King Robert. Brienne hoped there was a Stannis tapestry laid out somewhere with a lot of foot traffic. 

They climbed the steps to Jaime’s quarters and stepped inside. Brienne hung both of their cloaks. While she unstrapped Oathkeeper and leaned it against the wall Jaime set his packages down on the floor near his saddle bags and then sat on the bed. Brienne tried not to stare as Jamie leaned back on his elbows, his feet still on the floor. His scruffy chin was resting on his chest and he was looking up at her through his windblown hair. If she didn’t know better she would have described the way he was looking at her as seductive, but she assumed he was probably just sleepy.

Jaime and that bed had figured prominently in Brienne's imagination all day as she had sat in the small council chambers with Queen Daenerys, Mormont, Tyrion, Ser Loras and about a dozen other men gathered to discuss how best to push back the Others when the latest wave of Silvers went north. She hoped her inattention hadn’t been too evident to everyone present. Given her reputation as a stumble tongue any hesitation upon speaking when asked for her opinion was probably expected. She knew she should be a more active participant in the discussions, but she found the meetings mostly revolved around men trying to impress Queen Daenerys with their battle experience. Given the very scant and shear tunic the queen had been wearing Brienne was not surprised by the men competing for attention. She and Ser Loras had sat next to each other and exchanged amused expressions when no one was paying them any attention. Despite their history, Brienne was coming to quite like Loras Tyrell. With his effeminate side balancing out her lack of traditional femininity they had begun to enjoy insulting each other while laughing at everyone else. Loras was much droller than she could have imagined, with an expressive eye roll that put Tyrion’s to shame. 

Tyrion himself did not involve himself in the cock fight that seemed to be going on among the men in the room; from his place at Daenerys side he cultivated an uncharacteristically sober expression. Brienne did catch him once covering his mouth to stifle a laugh as Jorah Mormont reached across the table for a flagon of wine that had him practically in Dany’s bosom, despite the presence of a full flagon nearly at his elbow. The queen either didn’t notice or was used to his fumbling attempts to rub up against her. 

The council chamber had been quite warm with a few braziers fully stoked, no doubt in deference to the queen’s brief attire. Everyone else was flushed and panting, so Brienne’s occasional blush when her imagination got the better of her went unnoticed. The night before had given her plenty of fodder for distracting thoughts and daydreams about Jaime. 

Even here in Jaime’s room she wasn't able to stop musing on it. He had _almost_ kissed her. Or had that been her imagination as well? But he _had_ (sort of) accused her of causing his arousal, how was she to stop thinking about that? Which of them had been bolder: her for causing it or him for remarking on it? Brienne decided, at least while she was letting herself indulge in speculation, that his remarking on it meant… well, what the seven hells _did_ it mean? 

“What are you thinking so deeply about, Wench?” Jaime’s voice intruded on her thoughts. If she hadn’t already been blushing she surely would be now. He was watching her with an amused grin on his face. She wondered how long she had been standing there staring at the wall.

“Oh, just the council today.” She told him. “Ser Loras and I sat next to one another.”

“Oh? How did that go? I know he isn’t your favorite person.”

“I am coming to believe he’s not so bad,” Brienne said with a smile, remembering a particularly funny incident when Ser Clive had called Jorah Mormont a squirrel in heat. Brienne chuckled briefly remembering how Loras had whispered in her ear that Mormont should have buried his nuts in the snow before coming to council. 

Jaime didn’t look amused. Maybe he was just impatient for Brienne to shave him so they could get on with their plans for the evening.  
  
“Where is your shaving knife?” Brienne asked.

“In my brown bag, the one with the lion clasp,” he told her.

"The lion with the ruby eyes or the one that's yawning?" She asked.

"For the last time: it's _roaring_. Lions don't yawn. But it's the one with the red eyes."

Brienne retrieved the knife from his bag and walked over to Jaime. “It's funny how they let you keep this but won't let you carry a sword." She remarked, "You’ll have to move over. I need to be next to the water."

“Where do you want me?” he asked her with a smirk. 

Brienne gave him a little smile, hoping she looked mysterious. Gods, what if he could guess what she was thinking. But no, how could he? “Sit facing me,” she told him, settling herself on the bed cross legged. Jaime mirrored her, sitting so that their knees were touching. He leaned toward Brienne with his forearms resting on his thighs. She wet the lump of soap next to the basin and rubbed it between her hands before covering the lower half of his face and part of his neck with the lather.  She took up the blade and looked critically at it. Jaime winced as she plucked a hair from his head and slid it across the blade, slicing it lengthwise. She raised an eyebrow at him and said in a low voice “Don’t move,” Jaime smiled, and Brienne tried to look serious, “And don’t smile either, it makes your face crinkle up. I don’t want to nick you.” She positioned the knife and Jaime closed his eyes and tried to keep his face expressionless. 

Brienne put her left hand at the back of his neck, with her thumb resting at the edge of his jaw. She brought the knife smoothly up his cheek, scraping against the stubble. Brienne was confident with a knife in her hand, and she took her time over the job, slowly caressing Jaime’s face with razor sharp steel. Jaime’s breathing was deep and measured as Brienne used her hand to raise his chin, tilt his head, and stroke his cheek with her thumb to pull it smooth for the knife. She knew he trusted her utterly and having him so relaxed under her ministrations was lulling her as well until they were breathing almost as one; Brienne hated to break the spell when she was finished shaving him. She rinsed the knife one more time and set it on the table and then placed a hand on either side of Jaime’s face to check for stubble. Jaime opened his eyes at her touch and looked at her. Brienne felt her heart stutter in her chest and tried not to breathe in too quickly. She froze under Jaime’s intensity, not sure how to retreat. _Just sit back, Brienne_ , she thought to herself, and in that heartbeat of hesitation Jaime brought his hand up and gently guided her head down until their lips met. It was a brief kiss, and as both of them pulled away Jaime slid his hand from her hair, twirling a strand around his finger as he went. 

“Thank you,” Jaime said softly, whether for the kiss or the shave Brienne wasn’t sure. She sat back and gave him a shy half smile before dropping her eyes, rubbing her hands on her knees as though to dry the soap from them. Jaime straightened his back, and when Brienne risked another look at him through her eyelashes he was still watching her. She chewed her bottom lip, unsure of what to do next. She wished they were sparring with swords so that they could be on equal footing; she would instinctively know what her next move should be. She never doubted his intentions when they met sword to sword, and while she might not always know what his next move would be she could be sure that her fighting instincts would allow her to parry or attack as needed.

Jaime had kept her off-balance a lot in these last few days. The normal rules between them seemed to have changed since they had come to the Red Keep for his trial. Aside from the hand-holding, embraces, and the intensity of his eyes as he looked at her, even his teasing about them being lovers seemed to have taken on a different tone. Now there was this kiss, a kiss that could not be denied. Oh, it could be said to be a “thank you” kiss for shaving him, but it had felt like something more. It wasn’t their first kiss, but those other kisses didn’t count. Kisses and confessions when they were in their cups were never acknowledged when they were sober; it was one of many unspoken rules they navigated by in their friendship.  

Finally Brienne said, so quietly it was practically inaudible, “You’re welcome, Jaime.” She did not look at him as she said it, and was not sure whether she wished for her words to end this impasse or for him to parry somehow. She could feel his eyes still upon her, so she finally rallied her courage and looked at his face. He reached out and clasped one of the hands she had resting in her lap, brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles tenderly. 

“Forgive me, Wench, for making you uneasy.” he lowered their hands onto his knee.  

“I am not ‘uneasy,’” she said quickly, and at Jaime’s raised eyebrow she said “Okay, not _very_ ‘uneasy.’”

“Not _very_.”

“Jaime! Okay, you startled me a _little_. What brought that on?” She waved her other hand vaguely, trying to indicate the kiss.

Jaime looked down at their hands on his knee, his thumb brushing along hers softly. “I found myself thinking about you and missing you all day, Brienne.” He admitted, “Besides, I owed you for throwing me off when I was about to kiss you last night.” 

“You owed me for throwing you off?” She asked skeptically. “That’s new. I suppose when I knock you into the dust during sparring I should now expect you to, um… ” Brienne stumbled to a stop, unable to think of an equivalent action that didn’t sound blatantly carnal. Jaime laughed at her horrified expression as she covered her mouth with her hand, wishing she could take back her retort.

“Talked yourself right up against the wall there, didn’t you, Wench? Let me finish the thought,” he said with a cat-like grin, “You knock me into the dust and you can expect me to _ravish_ you? To take you right there in the yard?”

Brienne actually giggled at the thought, “Think of the racket we’d make in full armor!”

“Maybe we should stick with mail or boiled leather when we spar from now on.” He added, his grin becoming more predatory.

“And what if, unlikely as it sounds, you were the one to beat _me_ into the ground?” Brienne asked, her eyes glowing at this new game. It was bawdier than their usual verbal sparring, but she found herself warming to it easily.

“Hm,” Jaime said, seeming to consider her question. “If I were to overcome you… ” he paused to contemplate it, a secretive smile playing about his mouth.

“I’m _waiting_ ,” Brienne told him after a moment.

“Oh, sorry,” Jaime told her, pretending to shake himself. “My imagination got the better of me.” He leaned back quickly as she reached out with her free hand to smack him on top of the head. Brienne’s arms were more than long enough to get a good whack in. He responded by pulling her knuckles to his lips again and giving them a loud, sloppy kiss. Brienne narrowed her eyes at this new thing, wondering if she would be tempted to hit him more, or less, in the future, and trying to decide if they were to end up on the floor again if he would just go ahead and kiss her or if she would have to buck him off first. She chuckled at the thought, earning her a quizzical look from Jaime. 

In her heart she knew it all meant nothing. Still, she was unable to quell the little frisson inside at the thought of Jaime actually wanting to kiss her, the idea that maybe he really had thought about her all day even as she had been preoccupied with thoughts of him. 

Jamie released her hand to rub his own over his smooth cheeks and chin. “Will I pass, do you think?” he asked Brienne. 

“No, but it’s our best chance. I’m more worried about tomorrow morning.”

“I think it will work.” Jaime said confidently, “I’m really looking forward to stealing your pillow tonight.”

“You can _try_. We had better get going to dinner. I promised Loras we would go to the Queen’s Ballroom afterward to hear some bard that is singing there tonight."

“Do we have to?” Jaime asked with a frown. “If I have to hear ‘Dany’s Divine Dragons’ or ‘The Ballad of Barristan’ again I might be sick.”

 “At least it is unlikely we’ll hear the ‘Rains of Castamere’ or ‘Brawny Baratheon’s Bollocks’ in there, although ‘Queen Cersei’s Strumpet Stomp’ is enjoying a comeback.” Brienne replied, unfolding her legs to get off the bed. 

Jaime groaned. “You have to promise me that if they start to play ‘Ode to Aerys’ we can leave.”

“Agreed.” Brienne told him, “But if they play ‘the Wight’s Whirl’ you must promise you will dance it with me.” 

“Is that even a song?” Jaime was appalled.

“No, but it would be a good one, don’t you think?” Brienne widened her eyes at him and briefly pantomimed a wight shuffling in a circle.

“Incorrigible Wench.” Jaime said, getting off the bed himself. “By the way, there is a lady maid coming by to smuggle some of my things into the Maidenvault tonight,” Jaime told her. “I was able to bribe the man in charge of the serving women, some upjumped manservant name of Godfrey with breath that stinks like the tidelands. He assured me he could assign you a lady maid we could trust. I hope you weren’t too attached to the one you had?”

“I didn’t have anyone especially assigned to me,” Brienne said, “You know I prefer not to be bothered with having servants around.”

“A woman of your station should have someone to look after her.” he was rummaging through his saddle bags for clothing to be taken to the Maidenvault. “Do you think your boots would fit me?” he asked. Brienne frowned and stood next to Jaime, aligning her foot with his. They appeared to be the same size. _Could I not be dainty in_ any _way_? She thought with resignation. “Good, that will help.” Jaime said. 

He took some of the wrapped packages from his visit to town and set them on the bed along with his smallest saddle bag. “You took care of what we need for me to get back out in the morning?”

“I did, yes. This seems like a lot of work just to sleep in a bigger bed.”

“Do you want to sleep here again tonight?” Jaime asked, “If so, I get the side next to the wall. I do have to warn you that I saw old Lord Branson heading for the privy closet with a thick scroll to read not long ago. I’m not sure he’s come out yet, but I expect it will be reasonably aired out by morning. That is, unless he eats the pickled pigs’ feet at dinner tonight.”

“Or we could each sleep in our own beds.” Brienne said.

“You wound me, My Lady,” Jaime said, “After I tried so hard to keep you warm last night?”

“Stealing the covers was keeping me warm?” Brienne asked incredulously.

Jamie did not deign to answer. They both knew that it was always Brienne who took the lion’s share of the covers if she could. 

Brienne strapped on Oathkeeper and took their cloaks off of the peg she had hung them on. Both cloaks were damp from the storm blowing outside, but the warmth of the dining hall would help to dry them. She handed Jaime his Lannister red cloak and settled her own midnight blue cloak over her shoulders and fastened it with a crescent moon clasp.

Brienne opened the door and held her hand out to Jaime, who took it in his and gave her the kind of smile that made her knees weak. Holding hands and being kissed by Jaime Lannister was something she saw no reason not to enjoy thoroughly, as long as she remembered to guard her heart against the hope of something more. 

Brienne had worked hard from a young age not to be vulnerable to anyone. She had been taught at her Septa’s knee that her physical appearance and lack of grace made her unworthy of love or acceptance, but it wasn’t until she was in Renly’s camp and subjected to the humiliation of being courted as a joke that she learned how poorly she had defended her heart; it was a lesson she would never forget. She couldn’t change how sensitive her nature was, but she had learned to protect herself from false hope. 

They walked back down the stairs and stopped to talk to Lavakhat and Hemikh. Brienne greeted them in Dothraki and they began a halting conversation with much laughter at Brienne’s occasional difficulty in pronunciation or finding the right words. Brienne for her part took their kidding in stride. The Dothraki were an honest people, and she sensed their approval of her. It didn’t hurt that they towered over her and had a weakness for bad jokes made worse by the language barrier.

The four of them started toward the tower doors together. The tapestry of the Greyjoy Rebellion was still in place though Robert Baratheon was unrecognizable under the muck and mud that now covered him. Outside, the storm was still raging with thick heavy snowflakes and strong winds, though the lightning had moved north. It was difficult to see across the courtyard in the blowing snow, and Brienne felt sorry for the Dothrakis. She would have to remember to ask them why they wouldn’t dress for the weather. As hardy as they were she knew the biting cold had to be affecting them. She doubted they had even known what gooseflesh was until they had followed their Khaleesi across the sea. 

As they entered the building that housed the dining hall they were all relieved by the warmth inside. Daenerys did not skimp on using wood to warm the Keep. If winter continued as long as the maesters were predicting she would run out of trees to fell and eventually have to don warmer garb. Brienne imagined she would set her dragons to work blowing fire through the vents to prevent such a harsh measure.

Once inside the dining hall Lavakhat and Hemikh went to join a rowdy table of Dothrakis near the queen’s table. Rufus the dragon skull was still hanging in his place of honor, though apparently someone has warned Daenerys about the dangers of smoking dragons so he no longer had a brazier’s chimney run up to his mouth. He did have two new glowing red candles cleverly set right behind his eyeholes.

Jaime and Brienne looked toward the other side of the hall for someplace else to settle. Ser Loras was sitting at a table beneath what looked to be a small tapestry with a bulge in the middle of it. When Loras spotted them he waved them over enthusiastically. Jamie didn’t budge so Brienne tried to pull him toward the table. He set his feet and glared at her. 

“Do you see what he’s sitting under?” Jaime asked her.

“Some new tapestry, I think. How bad can it be?”

“I’ll show you.” He grumbled, finally letting her tow him over to the table. Before they could greet Loras Brienne’s mouth dropped open and she found herself staring speechless at the wall. The tapestry was small as such things went, but it definitely drew one’s attention. It depicted in vivid detail their new queen, face covered in blood, chewing her way through a large heart. The heart and Daenerys’ hands appeared to be jutting out of the scene as they had been sculpted from some leathery material and then stuffed. The heart itself gleamed as though it was fresh, and the blood trails were raised thanks to some stitched cording. To Brienne the heart almost looked like it was pulsating. Dany’s eyes seemed to be staring right at her. The Dothraki figures woven into the background seemed to be cheering Daenerys on as she devoured the organ.

“What in the seven hells?” Brienne squeaked, taking a long step back. Jaime and Loras laughed at her. Recovering, Brienne said in a low voice, “I hope that’s not on tonight’s menu.”

“Not that I can tell,” Loras told her, turning to glance at the tapestry with a little shudder. “Seems like the same old stuff, fish and feet and fungus, but I hear there will be a special sweet treat coming out later.” 

Jaime pulled Brienne to the bench and Loras noticed that they were holding hands. He raised a sardonic eyebrow at Brienne and she knew he would have something snarky to say about it, hopefully later where Jaime couldn’t hear. 

 “Ah, holding hands,” _No such luck_ , “How cute are you two? It’s not often you see a couple of swordsmen holding hands so adorably.”

“Really? I was sure I saw you and Renly holding hands at least once,” Jaime said equably. Loras blushed. Jaime and Brienne sat down on the bench across from him and Jaime raised Brienne’s hand and kissed it before releasing it. She scowled at him; was he playing it up for Ser Loras? 

A server came by with wine cups and Loras filled them from the flagon that was already on the table. Soon afterwards food was brought by a sweating kitchen boy. “’Fraid we’re all out of pigs’ feet.” He told them. “But we’ve got something else special tonight: pig stomach stuffed with pig pluck and boiled oats.” He set the trenchers down and the veined pig stomachs seemed to quiver next to the fish. Instead of carrots there were a few prunes nestled on a lettuce leaf. 

“What is pig pluck?” Brienne asked, stabbing tentatively at the greyish mass. 

“Pig livers and lungs. Maybe some hearts if they haven’t saved them for dessert.” Jaime said, pushing his portion away. “I suppose the prunes are so we can more easily digest whatever doesn’t make us vomit.” he leaned over, moved Brienne’s hair aside and whispered in her ear “Don’t risk it; I bought us something to eat later.” 

“How sweet,” Tyrion’s voice said from behind them. “Whispering secrets in Lady Brienne’s ear? Come on, share with the whole table. Cersei and I would like to hear what you’re talking about”

“We’re not falling for that again –“Jaime started to say as he and Brienne turned to look at Tyrion and came face to face with a glowering Cersei as well.  

Tyrion looked beyond pleased with himself as he escorted Cersei around the table to sit next to Loras. Something was strange about Cersei’s hair. It was slicked back from her face and the grooves of the comb had left it looking like thick greasy noodles. Her forehead gleamed a little with whatever she had used to style her hair. The freshly applied kohl around her eyes looked a little heavier than normal. Cersei held herself proudly upright in her regal gown, her curvy figure enhanced by the tailoring of the red and gold dress. 

“ _Love_ your hair,” said Loras, leaning toward her to sniff it. “And it smells so…earthy! You always were so daring in your hairstyles. I wouldn’t be surprised if Queen Daenerys herself adopts this one.” 

Cersei looked daggers at him. She raised her hand in the air to command wine as she surveyed her tablemates. “Brother,” she acknowledged Jaime with a little nod before turning to look at Brienne. She didn’t bother to hide her contempt, “And our Beast of Tarth,” she said, noting her brother’s expression as he tensed in anger, “I mean, _Brienne_ of Tarth. _So_ sorry, they sound _so_ much alike. Brienne, Beast, Beast, Brienne. You can see how I would make such a mistake.” 

Brienne set her hand on Jaime’s thigh, gripping it tightly to keep him from launching himself over the table at his sister. Cersei’s malevolence was so obvious that it really didn’t bother Brienne. She would sooner be called ‘Beast’ than Beauty’ anyway. Jaime turned to look at her and she could see by his eyes how much he loathed Cersei before looking relieved when he realized that Brienne was not upset.

Cersei’s hand still lingered in the air, but no one had attended to her need for wine.  Tyrion raised his arm and was immediately attended by a server who ran to fetch a new flagon and cups for the table. Cersei abruptly lowered her arm. 

“It seems my little brother commands some respect these days,” she said coldly. “I imagine you must have weaseled your way into the child queen’s good graces with your clownish appeal. What did you do, brother, act the fool and ride on a pig? Or did you juggle to amuse the little tart? I cannot understand all of these men fawning over the girl, so obviously flaunting her charms in her provocative clothes. Why, she makes Margaery Tyrell look classy.” Loras started at that, but before he could defend his sister Cersei was continuing with her tirade. “That girl needs a proper septa to take her in hand and teach her the difference between allure and complete exposure. One almost expects her to bend over and let one of those barbaric Dothraki men mount her right here at dinner. She will never be respected as a queen when she looks like such a slut…”

“House Lannister” Tyrion interrupted, rolling his eyes, “Hear Me Bore.” Everyone but Cersei laughed. Tyrion poured their wine and put a very full cup in front of Cersei.

There was a sudden metallic rumble from somewhere above and everyone but Tyrion looked up. First they saw a badly stuffed sheep being drawn by pulleys attached at intervals along the rafters. As they watched it being jerked along by a servant at one side of the hall they were startled by the sound of a drumroll. Before they could find its source another figure followed the track the sheep had taken. This one appeared to be stitched together from at least three Braavosi lizard carcasses and stuffed to make one long dragon shape: one reptile for the head, legs and tail, and at least two more torsos to make up the body. Wings had been made out of leather scraped so thin it looked translucent.   

Tyrion shook his head sadly. “Her grace can’t seem to grasp how a siege engine works, but she won’t rest until she figures out how to make that poor pieced together lizard’s wings flap. As it is she has two servants who have to operate the pulleys every hour or so.

As they watched the “dragon” chase after the sheep Cersei and Tyrion’s food was brought and set before them. Both of them looked aghast at the pig stomach as it nestled next to the fish. Tyrion took a bite of the fish. “Well,” he said, pulling the half chewed bite out of his mouth, “I had no idea Blackwater Bay was out of fresh fish.”

“I was told tonight’s fish was fresh,” Ser Loras told him.

“I guess the problem is that I just can’t tell the old cods from the new.” Tyrion sighed. "Looks like fruit for dinner again tonight. What do you say, Cersei, shall we stick with the grape?” Cersei did not deign to reply but held her now-empty cup out for a refill.

“Ser Loras,” Brienne asked after a moment, as she and Jaime sat awkwardly watching Jaime’s siblings demolish the flagon of wine and then flag down a servant for more, “Do you know when the bard will be singing in the Queen’s Ballroom?”

“It should be soon,” he said. “If I were you I would go early to find a place to sit, unless you want to stay for dessert.”

“Oh, do stay,” Tyrion urged them, “I understand there will be hearts made from the sweetened melted hooves of horses. Yum!” He rubbed his belly and grinned.

Jaime climbed over the bench before Tyrion had finished speaking and held out his hand to Brienne. “My lady,” he said, smiling at her. She took his hand and stepped over the bench herself. Jaime nodded farewell to the three at the table and he and Brienne made their way out. Under his breath Jaime told Brienne “I am going to kill that Tyrion. Did you see his face when he showed up with Cersei?” He paused so that Brienne could pull open the door for them. “Also, was it just me or did Cersei smell like bear grease?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, they still have to go hear the bard and sneak into the Maidenvault. I _promise_ that will happen in the next chapter. Your comments mean more to me than haggis does to a hungry Scot. Won't you leave me some? Please? And thank you so much for all of your previous comments.


	11. Jaime, Queen's Ballroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “By the seven, you kids,” came Tyrion’s slightly slurred voice, “Get a chamber already.”
> 
> Jaime and Brienne parted with a breathless laugh. “That’s the problem, little brother,” Jaime said without turning around, “we haven’t got one.”  
>  _A nice long chapter for everyone! Looks like I may have enough to "win" NaNoWriMo now. Lyrics are all my own, so there is no one else to blame._

“Bear grease?” Brienne asked, “That was _Cersei_? I thought maybe they had used it to fry tonight’s dinner.” She thought a moment and said “Do you think that was what she had in her hair?”

Jaime laughed. “I hope using bear grease to style hair doesn’t become popular. I know Loras has an eye for fashion, but do we really need the whole court smelling like a dog’s dinner?”

“I may be wrong, but I think Loras was teasing your sister about her hairstyle, not condoning it. He’s quite funny, you know.”

“Is he?” Jaime asked with feigned curiosity. “I never noticed. Are you sure you aren’t starting to fancy him?”

“Ah, you’ve caught me out Jaime,” Brienne said saucily, “With those soft brown curls and golden eyes of his, how could I help it? I wonder if he’s gotten good enough to defeat me in battle? I’m sure the small Isle of Tarth would be a fair prize for the third son of High Garden, don’t you?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched around a smile that did not touch his eyes. “I suppose it might, and the two of you are of an age…  ” Jaime’s brows drew down over his eyes and his small smile became more cutting. “But would you really be happy with a man who could only love you if you were another man?”

“ _In the dark I would be as beautiful as any man,”_ Brienne murmured under her breath as she looked away, their badinage suddenly losing its appeal. 

Jaime turned to Brienne “What did you say?” he asked, confused. Their steps had taken them to the great oak double doors leading into the Queen’s Ballroom. The torches in their iron sconces cast more shadows than light, and the two stood in the scant illumination next to the doors.

“Nothing.” She said, hoping he wouldn’t pursue what she hadn’t intended him to hear. When he continued to wait for her answer she started to lead him to the doors. 

He pulled her back with a little yank, “Brienne, just tell me what you said,” He insisted.

“ _Let go_ ,” she said, trying to pull her fingers from his, the color rising in her cheeks as she tried shaking his fingers lose. He tightened them. “It wasn't important, Jaime. Now let go!” Her eyes had gone from sad to frustrated and angry. It was obvious that Jaime was determined to make her repeat what she had said. Brienne tried to distract him by reminding him, “The _last_ time you accused me of fancying Loras you said yourself that a man could change.” 

Her brief smile was forced, and the hurt look in her eyes was easy for him to read. It riled him that she still refused to trust him with her feelings after all they had been through together. He released her hand but before she could turn away he had shifted his body quickly to trap her against the wall, his left hand holding her wrist down at her side and his right forearm braced against the wood paneling, caging her in. It was a swordsman’s motion: graceful, instinctual, and menacing. Brienne’s free hand came up between them and pressed against his chest. Jaime knew she was more than strong enough to escape his hold, and his stomach lurched as he realized he might have just undone any new trust he had won in the last few days by trying to force her to confide in him. He suddenly felt a little ashamed of his jealousy and possessiveness, his need to learn all of her secrets.

“Please. Tell me,” He asked, his soft, gruff voice at odds with the move he had just used to capture her. Brienne relaxed the pressure of her hand on his chest, and though he did not shift his position, Jaime loosened his taut fighter’s stance. 

“Jaime, it was really nothing. I didn’t mean to say it out loud and it's something embarrassing,” Brienne told him with a huff of annoyance. “I said ‘ _in the dark I would be as beautiful as any man_.’” She glanced down pointedly at her hand on his chest and then back at him, willing him to step back. 

Jaime shook his head at her, “I can’t even guess what that means. It sounds almost like a jape, but I know it wasn’t.”

Brienne sighed, “It was just a variation of something Hyle Hunt said to me when he suggested we marry so he could have Tarth and I could have a castle full of children by him.” She rolled her eyes briefly, “That was when he tried to convince me to let him come to my room to show me how he could make that happen. He said to me ‘ _in the dark you would be as beautiful as any other woman_.’” She looked at Jaime and he could see that her anger and embarrassment still smoldered. The story of the hedge knight’s humiliating attempt at seduction had not been something she wanted to share with him.

Jaime felt his own fury rising, his protectiveness of Brienne heightened by her confession. “That poxy son of a whore! Would that we had let the worthless sack of shit swing in the wind to feed the crows.” Jaime thought about how he had saved Brienne from being raped back when they were captives of the Bloody Mummers, how he had hoped then to prevent the hidden scars that rape would have left her with. But he hadn’t been around to save her from the likes of Hunt and every other man who had scored and wounded her heart with words and deeds not fitting from a knight or a knave. So much of the damage had been done before he had ever met her.

Without really knowing what he was about he suddenly wrapped his right arm around her waist and his hand rose to tangle into her hair. He leaned her back and as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep her balance he kissed her hard, in a sudden fervor to blot out every unworthy man who had made it impossible for her to trust how he felt about her and to trust her own feelings. Brienne didn't try to push him away, but she also didn't welcome his kiss; she did not part her lips under his, or close her eyes or yield in any way. Jaime finally raised his head and looked at her, searching her eyes for a way to break through the barriers she had thrown up. Her lips were reddened from his fervent kisses, her eyes wide with questions and dark with emotion. 

Jaime changed his stance to pull her up back upright until they were pressed together without an inch between them, with his arms wrapped around her waist. He knew he should step back from her, but he decided that she had enough room to back away if she was bothered by the feel of his rigid cock against her thigh; he was too intoxicated by her nearness and the memory of her lips beneath his to back away himself. He desired her and he wanted her to know it, to feel it and accept it. Brienne did not back away from him as he had feared she might and they both stood utterly still for a long moment, barely daring to breathe. Brienne set her hands low on Jaime's hips as they continued to take each other’s measure eye to eye; there could be no misunderstanding about how intimately they were holding each another. Jaime knew that his eyes revealed to her all that he was feeling, but Brienne was still trying to keep her own guarded from him. Jaime raised his hand to her cheek and cupped it, “My Brienne,” he said, his voice low and husky, watching as her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. He felt her hips settle against his and her fingers spread across his lower back as she opened her eyes to gaze into his own. Jaime brushed against her lips softly, feeling her respond shyly at first, but then quickly get swept up by their ardor as they fell into a fathomless kiss and the world around them spun away until the only point of light was the two of them yielding to each other. 

“By the seven, you kids,” came Tyrion’s slightly slurred voice, “Get a chamber already.”

Jaime and Brienne parted with a breathless laugh. “That’s the problem, little brother,” Jaime said without turning around, “we haven’t got one.” He smoothed his hand down Brienne’s hair and gave her another little kiss. Brienne saw that Cersei was with Tyrion, but she was too caught up in the lingering memory of Jaime’s lips against hers to do more than note the usual malign hatred there. Jaime twisted round to look at his brother and sister, but for obvious reasons chose not to turn all the way towards them. “Go on ahead. My lady and I will be along soon.” 

“C’mon, Cersei,” Tyrion said to his sister, “We know when we’re not wanted, don’t we?” he started toward the door, “I believe I hear a flagon of hippocras calling your name, sister,” he said as Cersei followed him to the doors, weaving slightly, “Do you hear it?” Tyrion asked as he pulled open one of the huge doors and cupped a hand to his ear, “Cersei, _Cerseiiiii_ ” he called in a whispery falsetto, “Yes, we hear you sweet spirits, we’re coming!” he pretended his own hand had reached out and pulled him in. Jaime had turned back to Brienne, and did not see his sister mouth _whore_ at her before disappearing into the Queen’s Ballroom after Tyrion. 

“Now,” Jaime said to Brienne with a sly smile, “about this thing you have for Ser Loras…  ”

She laughed at him, her eyes bright. “I’m not telling you _not_ to worry that I could be falling for him, but I rather thought he was beginning to fancy _you_. Honestly, I’m not at all sure I could compete.”

“Wench.” He said, and stole another quick, passionate kiss. Jaime felt elated by the hectic color in her cheeks and the liveliness of her eyes. The battle to convince her that he wanted more of her than friendship may not have been won yet, but he felt like he had been the victor in this round, despite his clumsy missteps. When he had kissed her in his room before dinner she had been flustered but had not backed away, and later she had even offered him her hand to hold, but the kiss they had just shared burned bright in his heart with the knowledge that she wanted more, too. He just might be getting better at this courting business.

“Come on, we don’t want to miss it if they sing ‘the Ice Spider Shuffle’” he told her with a grin. 

“You just made that up.” She accused him.

“Did I?” He said, letting her use the hand he wasn't holding to pull open one of the huge doors, “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

They entered the small but sumptuous hall, which was bright with torchlight reflected off of the beaten silver mirrors. Jaime had been in the room more times than he could remember, but Brienne had never set foot in it before. As expected, Queen Daenerys had lent her decorating touches to the ballroom, but they were nowhere near as gaudy as the carnival atmosphere she had created in the dining hall. Many of the chairs had been replaced by small couches and ample overstuffed chairs of soft kid leather, each draped with soft lamb’s wool coverlets in Targaryen red and black. Small wood tables were scattered throughout and delicately wrought beaten silver bowls in the shape of curled, sleeping dragons graced each table. Some were filled with nuts, some with sweet-smelling pastries. Some of the dragon skulls from storage had been brought up for use here as incense burners, with bone inserts placed in the eye holes to hold the glowing scented cones. They could barely smell Cersei’s hair over the richness of everything else in the room. The scent of spiced wine, new leather, and roasted nuts made the already small room feel even more intimate. The golden reflected light of the torches was warm and enveloping. 

The Queen's Ballroom was meant to hold about one hundred people, but there were less than a third of that many present so far. On a dais between two roaring hearths a tall bard was tuning his lute as he sat on an ornate stool, a cup and flagon on a table beside him. He had long dark hair caught up at the base of his neck with a gold ribbon and the gleaming tail of it flowed down the green velvet of his jacket.

Jaime saw that Tyrion had claimed one of the overstuffed chairs near the front and Cersei was curled on a couch next to him by herself, cradling her wine cup near her nose as she inhaled its scent. 

Jaime led Brienne to a couch near the doors. All of the furniture had been arranged so that everyone might have a decent view of the stage no matter where they sat. A large circular space had been left in front of the dais for dancing. Jaime hoped that by choosing to sit near the door they could sneak out if the bard wasn't to their liking or if the singing went past the time they had agreed to meet Lavakhat and Hemikh. Brienne settled into the soft cushions of the couch, leaving room for Jaime beside her. He lifted the coverlet off of the back of the couch and handed it to Brienne before sitting down himself. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Brienne asked, holding up the blanket.

“You could drape it over us and get comfortable,” Jaime suggested with a raised eyebrow. Brienne frowned at him unconvincingly and draped the soft wool over their laps. 

A server dressed in black livery with richly embroidered red Targaryen dragons on it hurried up to them. He bowed slightly and said “Ah, Lady Brienne, I am so glad you’ve arrived. We were worried you might not come.” Brienne looked up at the man in confusion, and Jaime looked at her as though she could explain what was going on. “Oh, uh oh,” the man said quickly, covering his mouth, “Forgive me, m’lady. I, well, I mean I was told to make sure you were well taken care of.” The man was obviously trying to cover up something he hadn’t been meant to reveal. Before they could ask the man more he hurried off and spoke rapidly to a serving girl, gesturing over at them urgently. The girl trotted off into an alcove and emerged with mugs and a pitcher of wine, which she hurriedly brought to them.

“M’lord, m’lady, mulled wine for you?” she asked nervously. 

“Thank you, yes,” Jaime told her with a charming smile meant to put her at ease. Brienne watched as the server blushed, obviously and predictably smitten by the handsome knight. She served Brienne first, handing her a steaming mug, and then presented one to Jaime, daring to brush his fingers as she did so. She dropped a quick curtsey, gave him one last coy look and hurried off to serve wine to new arrivals. 

The room was filling quickly, and the intimate feel of the space was being overtaken by a festive air. Ser Loras came in followed by one of the young men Jaime recognized from the group that had been hovering around Brienne in the yard earlier. Loras nodded to Jaime and Brienne and settled into a couch on Brienne’s side. The man who had come in with him stopped in front of Brienne and gave her a wide smile. “Lady Brienne!” he said enthusiastically, “Ser Loras told me you would be here tonight.” He grasped her hand from the top of the coverlet and raised it for a kiss. He turned to Jaime and inclined his head, still lightly holding onto Brienne’s hand. “Ser Jaime Lannister, I am so honored to finally meet you! I was brought up on tales of your skill and valor almost from the time I learned to walk and carry a wooden sword.”

Jaime glanced out of the corner of his eye at Brienne, who finally took her hand back. “I am remiss in my courtesies,” she said, “Ser Jaime, I would like to introduce Ser Dwayne of Lorath. Ser Dwayne, of course, already knows who you are.”

Jaime stood and extended his left hand, enjoying Ser Dwayne’s discomfiture as he first tried to extend his right hand to shake. When he offered his left Jaime gripped it so hard that Dwayne winced a little.

“Lorath?" Jaime asked, releasing his hand “I’ve not heard of the name before. Minor house?” He noted that the younger man was taller even than Brienne, with auburn hair, and a blandly handsome face. His eyes were similar in color to Loras’, gold but with flecks of green. He wore snug, slightly glossy red leather breeches and a black silk tunic. Jaime was deciding he didn’t much like him.

“No, Ser,” Dwayne told him, “Lorath is on an island, much like Tarth.” He smiled down at Brienne, “It is one of the free cities. I am Jourel of Lorath’s eldest son and heir. Most of our wealth comes from the silver mines at the west side of the island. Queen Daenerys was very taken with the quality of our goods and invited me to come to King’s Landing as her guest and to train with some of her loyal knights.” He smiled down at Brienne, “I have been trying to convince Brienne to spar with me. I am not able to understand why she is not yet a knight.” 

Jaime noted his bold use of Brienne’s name and found himself disliking this Ser Dwayne more and more. He sat back down next to her, rather closer than before.

“You flatter me, Ser Dwayne.” Brienne smiled up at him, “I hope that we can find some time to spar before Ser Jaime and I head north again.” She looked at Jaime and her affectionate smile for him warmed him through, “I promised Jaime that he could spar with me first, when we find the time.” 

Ser Dwayne was lingering before them, waiting for Brienne to look away from Jaime, when Loras called to him. “Ser Dwayne, do come sit here with me. You can have the side next to Brienne so that you can converse with her without looming over them like an overgrown ox.” Loras patted the couch. Brienne looked over at Loras and smiled in thanks, and Dwayne took the offered seat.

The room had become quite full by the time Daenerys and her hangers’ on made their entrance. The queen had dressed in flowing sandsilk the color of a desert sunset and a woven silver filet bound her hair back from her forehead. The silk was snug against her breasts and did nothing to hide their fullness or the thrust of her nipples against the thin silk. Her waist was cinched with a wide tooled leather belt that started just below her breasts and ended at the flare of her hips. The silk flowed down her flanks and arse in waves, both clinging to her curves and swirling around them. Tension flowed into the room along with Daenerys in the form of Ser Jorah Mormont, walking awkwardly behind her, trying to stare at her arse, hide his erection and keep one jealous eye on every man in the room, who he seemed to assume were all in a similar state. 

Loras leaned across Dwayne and said in a low whisper to Brienne “Looks like Ser Jorah forgot to bury his nuts in the snow again.” Brienne snorted as she tried to stifle a laugh. “Also,” Loras said, “I’m fairly certain that stubby wood he’s trying to hide barely qualifies as a twig.” Brienne widened her eyes at him, looking scandalized, but Jaime had overheard him as well and laughed out loud. 

Brienne turned to look at him as he continued to chuckle quietly, watching Jorah walk awkwardly behind the queen, “You’re right,” he whispered in her ear, “Loras _is_ funny.” He put his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward him so he could kiss the top of her head. He kept his lips in her hair for a moment and then whispered, “Gods, you don’t think he’s got a mental image of every cock in the Red Keep, do you?”

Brienne pulled herself up to whisper in his ear, “No, just the ones belonging to men he fancies,” and slid back down giggling.

Jaime shifted so that his arm was under hers and resting across her middle. He pulled her closer until she was leaning against him, but the position was awkward and there was no good way for her to position her arms and elbows. Jaime came to the realization that he had no experience at cuddling in an upright position or in public, and neither did Brienne. He felt a little bashful thinking about how much he didn’t really know at his age. When he been with Cersei he had learned early how to be a good lover and how to satisfy a woman;he suspected that his sister was probably one of the most difficult women to please in the whole kingdom, and he had no doubts about his prowess in that respect. But the everyday pleasures of holding a woman one cared for probably came easier to the average fourteen year old boy. Jaime thought about how he had figured out how to hold Brienne’s hand just recently, and laughed to himself about how ridiculous it was that a man of his age and reputation was acting like a green boy. 

Brienne had pulled away to sit up again by this time, just as stymied as he was by the way their bodies didn’t seem to fit together on the couch in any way except by sitting side by side. She smiled her shy smile, and he could tell she thought it was her fault somehow.

“Here, get up a minute,” he told her, and she draped the coverlet over the back of the couch and stood, looking as though she wanted nothing more than to hide from the faces that turned to look at her from all over the room. Her height would always draw attention to her, and he knew how uncomfortable that made her. Jaime turned to the side and set his back against the cushioned armrest, then placed his right leg along the back of the couch. He gestured for Brienne to sit down with her back against him. She looked as though she might argue the point, but then reconsidered; she wanted more than anything to stop towering over everyone else that was already seated. She quickly settled herself between Jaime’s legs and pulled her own knees up so that her feet rested on the couch. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against his chest, resting her own arms across his with her hands draped over his muscular forearms.

“Oh,” she said, “I guess this i _s_ better,” and tried to relax against him. She fidgeted a little nervously and grabbed the cover to drape over them again, then sat up to retrieve her mug of wine and to offer him his, and then to set them back down and rearrange the coverlet. Jaime patiently waited for her to settle down, wishing she would stop shifting around so much. He could only distract himself by doing math figures in his head for so long before he would have to resort to mentally reciting the Dornish poetry his father had made him memorize when he was eight. Finally, Brienne snuggled back against him and he was able to relax as well. 

Very soon the noise level in the room rose as the bard got off his stool and bowed to the crowd. Jaime glanced around the room and caught Tyrion’s knowing smirk and grinned back. Cersei was curled into one corner of her couch, facing the bard. She looked about ready to pass out and didn’t seem to notice that Godfrey of Boane was perched on the other side of her couch watching her like a spider might watch a fly. Jaime wondered how or if they knew each other.

As the bard plucked a string on his lute the audience applauded. He made a grand flourish with his arm to the queen and made a low bow to her. 

“I am honored to be here by her Grace’s command,” he said in a rich voice that carried to every corner of the room, “I am known as Brad the Bard and I have sung in the halls of kings and queens, khals and khaleesi’s, from the free cities to the seven kingdoms to Vaes Dothrak and beyond. But I have never,” he paused dramatically, “been in the presence of a queen half so beautiful as Queen Daenerys Targaryen.” More applause erupted, especially from those seated closest to the queen. 

The bard plucked a series of notes from his instrument and launched into “Dany’s Divine Dragons,” much to the evident appreciation of the crowd. Jaime had to admit the bard had talent as he soared through the song, ending with the final verses:

_Above the storm clouds limned in gold_  
 _Drogon soared as was foretold_  
 _All of Westeros beneath his wings_  
 _Rightful land of the Targaryen Kings_

_With Daenerys Stormborn riding high_  
 _The Mother of Dragons graced the sky_  
 _For far and long had she flown_  
 _And come to rule upon the Iron Throne_.

The bard was rewarded with wild applause, and Jaime thought he might have seen what looked like a pair of women’s smallclothes flung upon the dais. Brad the Bard took his bows and gazed about the room, his dark-lashed blue eyes searching for a likely lady to serenade. He finally selected a minor lord’s daughter from among those seated near the queen and, taking her hand, he escorted her up to the dais, seating her upon his stool. The girl was comely enough, Jaime supposed, but like so many lords’ daughters he had met over the years her courtly manners verged on simpering, and her eyes, though pretty enough, looked less intelligent than any well-bred mare’s. She perched upon the stool and gazed down at the bard who had settled cross-legged at her feet to sing her a ballad of lost love. Jaime doubted the girl had ever thought about the lyrics, though the song itself was popular enough. It told the story of a lord’s daughter who had used her own death to warn her lover of danger, a thief wanted by the king’s justice.  In the end the thief’s head was chopped off and no one was happy. Jaime had never cared for the song. He looked over at the maiden’s lord father, and by his crossed arms and glowering face he wasn't fond of it either. When the bard escorted the lord’s daughter back to his side it was clear from her father’s glare that the girl was going to be under house guard for at least the next fortnight or however long the bard was still in King’s Landing.

After that the bard took a few requests, and was offered many tankards of ale, cups of wine and flirtatious innuendos. He played a reel about a half-wit squire that had a half dozen couples dancing drunkenly before the dais. 

Jaime’s mind began to wander to his plans for later, when he could have Brienne all to himself in her chamber within the Maidenvault. All day he had been thinking about being alone with her and continuing to romance her and imagining how it would go, but now he began to feel his excitement tempered by nerves. Even as he had been planning how best to court Brienne his impulsiveness and impatience had driven him to demand more of her than she seemed ready for. He had never thought to share such an intimate kiss with her so soon, no matter how often he had imagined and wished for it. Having her here in his arms out in the open like this felt right. It was almost perfect, and his happiness seemed to thrum through his veins at the way she had completely relaxed into him; the weight of her against him, her warmth, the feel of her soft hair against his neck. He tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head making a little hum under his breath.

“You keep kissing me,” Brienne informed him, tilting her head back to peer up at him, “why do you keep kissing me?” She was trying to look stern but failing miserably as she had to keep biting back a smile.

“Because you’re letting me,” Jaime said quietly, kissing her forehead.

“Oh,” Brienne sighed, “Good answer.” She stretched against him like a cat and he almost expected to hear her purr. The bard’s singing had faded into the background and it didn’t seem to matter that they were in a room with so many people as contentment settled over them like a downy blanket. 

Then Brienne gave a little start as she heard her name, and they both realized that the singing had stopped and the bard was watching them with an indulgent smile. It was him that had said Brienne’s name, and more than once. People in couches and chairs and standing along the walls were all craning their necks, looking at them. Jaime smiled nonchalantly and raised an eyebrow at the bard, clearing asking him to repeat himself. He knew Brienne would be wishing the seven hells would swallow her up at that moment, but he had enough experience at facing down crowds for both of them. 

“I was just telling the audience, Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne, that tonight marks the debut of a new song written in Lady Brienne’s honor,” the bard said in his carrying voice. “I was hoping the Lady would come up here and let me sing it for her.”

Brienne seemed to shrink into the couch, and Jaime said with a wide grin, “I believe she would be more comfortable right where she is, but pray continue with your song.” Despite his outward confidence, Jaime was a little afraid the song would be mocking, and if that was the case the bard would be plucking lute splinters out of his face for a week – if he was lucky. Jaime looked around at the faces turned to them, noting the smile on Loras’ and Dwayne’s faces, a solemn but unworried nod from Tyrion, and a look of mean spirited anticipation from Cersei. He noticed that she had pulled herself up more alertly on her couch, but even from here he could see the grease spot on the armrest of the couch where she had laid her head. He was surprised to see that his Dothraki guards had slipped into the room and were leaning against the wall. They gave him nearly identical broad smiles and he wondered if they had known about the song ahead of time, as he suspected that Tyrion and Ser Loras had. Jaime kissed the top of Brienne’s head again and whispered to her that everything would be fine.

The bard had settled on his stool with his lute, and he had also draped a pan flute on a cord over his head. With a nod to Jaime and Brienne he announced, “The Ballad of Brienne the Brave,” and, bringing the flute to his lips he began playing a haunting melody to lead into the song before picking up his lute and beginning to sing:

_On a summer’s day the Maid set sail_  
 _Traveling ‘cross the Narrow Sea_  
 _She wore her armor over mail_  
 _Hoping someday a knight she'd be_

_Waves rocked and wild winds blew_  
 _Carrying her far from home_  
 _Away from Tarth and her waters blue_  
 _Never knowing how far she’d roam_

_Tall she stood, bright eyes alight_  
 _As salty spray blew back her hair_  
 _She wasn’t a beauty, nor yet a knight_  
 _Though she had honor and her heart was fair_

_The maid was fearless, as she was Bold_  
 _Brienne the Brave, Brienne the true_  
 _Faithful as the knights of old_  
 _Brienne with eyes of sapphire blue_

Other than the sound of the bard and his instrument the room was silent, caught in the spell of the man's silky voice. There were so many verses that Jaime was losing track, but it seemed to cover nearly Brienne’s entire history since leaving Tarth, at least the well-known parts. He sang of Brienne’s defeat of Loras and her rise to the Rainbow Guard, and then, following a string of mournful notes on the flute, he sang of Renly’s death and Brienne’s grief and subsequent flight with Catelyn Stark. Jaime looked over and saw tears in Ser Loras’ eyes for his late lover, King Renly.

_In a dungeon foul and dark_  
 _She and Ser Jaime took an oath_  
 _To twice doomed Lady Stark_  
 _‘Twas a vow that bound them both_

_Brienne guarded her captive knight_  
 _Until he found a sword_  
 _He challenged the maid to fight_  
 _Oh, how that lion roared!_

_They battled, knight and maid_  
 _‘Til in water she held him down_  
 _Ser Jaime was dismayed_  
 _So nearly did he drown_

_Then they heard the laughter_  
 _A sound they’d cause to fear_  
 _As they soon found after_  
 _When Bloody Mummers did appear_

As the song began to recall Jaime and Brienne’s capture and his maiming, Brienne held Jaime’s stump protectively in her hands and nestled her head into his neck. Jaime was touched by how much the memory still had such an effect on her. He felt himself cringing also, but for her travails during that awful time rather than his.

_The pair could not escape_  
 _That lawless stinking band_  
 _For Brienne they threatened rape_  
 _And severed the Kingslayer’s hand_

_Vargo the Goat did maim_  
 _The realm’s most famous knight_  
 _Took his paw, leaving him lame_  
 _A wounded lion, unable to fight_

_Brienne insisted “You cannot die_  
 _Oh Ser do not despair!_  
 _You must live and defy_  
 _The bloody mummer’s snare.”_

_But it was Brienne they made to stay_  
 _To entertain Hoat’s ugly horde_  
 _They gave her to a bear to slay_  
 _Armed with a wooden sword_

_Just in time her knight arrived_  
 _And leapt into the ring_  
 _Because of him the maid survived_  
 _To take him to his king_

The bard repeated the chorus before going on with the next verses:

_Tall she stood, blue eyes alight_  
 _Possessed of ideals quite rare_  
 _She wasn’t a beauty, nor yet a knight_  
 _But she was loyal and her heart was fair_

_The maid was fearless as she was Bold_  
 _Brienne the Brave, Brienne the true_  
 _Faithful as the knights of old_  
 _Brienne with eyes of sapphire blue_

_It’s said that from those darkest days_  
 _Their love began to grow_  
 _And when they parted ways_  
 _Oathkeeper he did bestow_

_It was Valyrian steel she’d wield_  
 _Upon her noble quest_  
 _With a mare and oaken shield_  
 _At her true love’s behest_

Jaime wondered how anyone had guessed the truth of them back then when they hadn’t even realized it themselves. The bard went on to chronicle Brienne’s quest for Sansa Stark, her near death from Biter and Lady Stoneheart, and their victory over the Brotherhood. _Such a long song_ , thought Jaime, _it’s a wonder everyone hasn’t fallen asleep_. He happened to glance over at Cersei, who was wide awake and seething as she glared at the bard. _Perhaps she’s guessed that this was happening when she was taking her walk of shame_ , Jaime thought. 

He realized that a tear had silently slipped down Brienne’s cheek when she raised her hand to wipe it away. Was it a tear of appreciation for the song, or because of all they had been through? Or, like him, was she struck by the evidence of their love for each other in everything they had done; not that the song was especially subtle in playing up the romantic elements.

Eventually the song flowed into their current time: 

_When the snow mounds like a wave_  
 _And all the world seems frozen_  
 _Goldenhand and Brienne the Brave_  
 _Fight for the cause they’ve chosen_

_Each night in dark and danger_  
 _They battle wights and Walkers White_  
 _Betwixt the Warrior and the Stranger_  
 _The Warrior Maid and her Knight_

_Some say she’s secretly his bride_  
 _Her love, her knight, the lion-hearted_  
 _Meant to be always side by side_  
 _And never to be parted._

The song finished with a repeat of the chorus and as the last melancholy notes of the flute skirled away into the room, whistles and applause rang out from every corner. “You okay?” Jaime asked Brienne and felt her nod. “It’s almost time to leave,” he told her, seeing Lavakhat and Hemikh leave the room, but not before they gave the couple an approving look.

“Good,” said Brienne, her voice a little shaky, “as soon as people get absorbed with something else, let’s go.”

That something else was the first familiar jaunty string of notes announcing “Queen Cersei’s Strumpet Stomp,” which had people gleefully making their way to the dance floor. Cersei’s face flamed in fury that the song was being played in her presence, but half the audience seemed to forget she was even the subject of the song. Although they might not have even recognized her with her hair clumped in bear grease.

Brad the Bard led the crowd in the moves that went with the song.

_Everybody come and do the Stomp_  
 _Cersei’s Strumpet Stomp_

And he stomped his feet and kicked up his knees in a one-one-two rhythm.

_So ladies curtsey and lords bow_  
 _All it takes is a little pomp_  
 _It’s easy once you know how_  
 _Come join us for a bawdy romp!_

Bowing and leering looks… 

_Beautiful Queen Cersei had a lust_  
 _That she sated upon her back_  
 _All it took was a little thrust_  
 _From the brothers Kettleblack_

Everyone knew this move as they aggressively thrust their pelvises at each other, most of them not bothering to stifle their leering giggles.

_Come everybody and do the Stomp_  
 _Cersei’s Strumpet Stomp!_

_They say Queen Cersei was a whore_  
 _Who only wanted a good fuck_  
 _She had King Robert but needed more_  
 _And swapped the Stag for a young buck!_

A back kick and a hip bump with another participant.

_Slutty Queen Cersei had a lust_  
 _And all it took was a little thrust!_

Another group thrust, looking more than a little obscene. 

_Everybody now, do the Stomp!_  
 _We’ll have us a bawdy romp!_

And as the dancers continued to kick and stamp their feet Jaime and Brienne took off the coverlet, got off the couch, and hastily left the room. Jaime was grateful he hadn’t gotten a mention in the song, but he knew that some people would read his place into it anyway. He would have tried to leave at the first note if they hadn’t already been under scrutiny for Brienne’s ballad.

Outside the door Brienne squeezed Jaime’s hand and asked, “Are you okay? I know that song bothers you.”

“I can handle it,” Jaime told her, though his expression gave away the disgust he still carried for what he had gone through with Cersei. Lancel and the Kettleblacks and probably Moon Boy. _What excellent company_ , he thought. “Does that song bother you much?” he asked her curiously.

“It used to bother me more,” Brienne admitted as they began walking toward the Maidenvault. 

“Why ‘used to’?” Jaime asked.

“Because I never knew if you were still in love with Cersei or not.”

Jaime looked over at her in the dim light and tilted his head, “You didn’t really think I could still be in love with her, did you?”

“No,” Brienne allowed, “I was pretty sure you were past that madness, but I did wonder if once you were near her again if you would end up between her legs.” Brienne blushed, but held Jaime’s eyes, watching for his response.  
Jaime sucked in a breath and pulled her to a stop in the middle of the corridor. “You can’t really have thought I was that stupid?”

“You are a man,” she sighed, and tugged his hand to get him walking again. It wasn’t really an answer Jaime knew what to do with. If he pulled her to him for a kiss, he would appear to be only interested in physical pleasure with any woman, even though his intention was to show her that she was the only woman he wanted. But he couldn’t actually deny that he was a man, since obviously he was, with all a man’s foibles and needs. It wasn’t often she managed to leave him speechless, but this time she had. This really wasn’t the time or place for declarations and promises, was it?

They finally reached the deserted alcove they had been headed toward and stepped into its shadows. They swapped boots and cloaks quickly, then stood back to examine one another. Jaime had pulled Brienne’s midnight blue hood over his head so that his face was in shadow. At a glance he could be anybody, and with the Tarth sigil most people would just assume he was Brienne, especially with her distinctive boots on. He was a little shorter than her, but no enough to raise suspicion. Brienne reached out and ran her hand along his smooth angular jawline. 

“Gods, if I were only as pretty as you,” she said with a little smile. Jaime moved his head to kiss the palm of her hand, knowing arguing that point would be useless. He was not unaware of his attractiveness even though he tended to take it for granted.

He hesitated a moment and then said, “You are beautiful to me,” hoping he wouldn’t sound trite. Before Brienne could hide from the compliment he pulled her in for a lingering kiss that left her a little breathless. Jaime stepped back and looked her over. “I like you in my red cloak,” he said admiringly, allowing his smile to turn sly. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I guess since according to the song I’m your secret bride it’s appropriate, right?” and bit her bottom lip on a demure smile. 

Jaime laughed, “But not so secretly my Wench. I need to go watch Hemikh work his magic. See you in a little while?” Brienne leaned in and kissed his lips briefly before she turned and strode away. Jaime watched her go, his red cloak floating out behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are as wonderful to me as fresh mashed potatoes and gravy, so if you enjoyed this very long chapter and look forward to a quick update (wait until you see what Hemikh is going to do!), please give a needy writer a word or two or 200 or 400 or whatever, I like 'em all.
> 
> BTW, I'm on Tumblr now - just look for Nurdles.
> 
> Also, now that I've seen some of your comments - too funny, I assumed everyone knew Jaime would be switching places with Brienne, which is why I thought the drag part was a funny assumption. It never even occurred to me that he would be pretending to be some random woman.


	12. Jaime, Maidenvault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime makes it to Brienne's chamber in the Maidenvault with Hemikh and Lavakhat's help.
> 
> Jaime POV

Jaime left the series of small halls they had been in and walked outside into the blowing snow. There were only a few torches stuck behind walls to protect them from the wind, and the yard was dark except for the eerie glow of the snow. Jaime knew his way even in the uncertain light, passing the burned Tower of the Hand, then across the middle bailey and behind the Royal Sept, which had been the last place he and Cersei had fucked; the same day he had returned to King’s Landing with Brienne.

It seemed a lifetime ago now, but he still felt slightly ill to remember it. All he had wanted after being a prisoner for a year had been to get back to his beloved sister, to get between her thighs and take his pleasure, to come home to her for good. Her revulsion at his maimed arm had been hurtful, but having his eyes opened to Cersei’s true nature had been more painful still. 

Before his capture, in his blind devotion to Cersei, Jaime had shuffled the knowledge of her madness away where he wouldn’t have to examine it too closely. After his return to the Red Keep, even without the eventual knowledge of her unfaithfulness to him, seeing her wild grasp for power and the wanton cruelty that drove her had staggered him. He had loved her once, passionately and single-mindedly. Now he had no illusions left about her and had long ago come to feel nothing but self-disgust about how long he had held on after it became clear that his love for her had become a thing she used to manipulate him. He hadn’t known then what it was to love someone with a true heart.

Jaime willed himself to shake off the grimness that always stalked him when he went near the Royal Sept, but since the Maidenvault was right behind the sept he could only walk faster and turn his thoughts back to Brienne, as they inevitably did.

He hurried into the large main doors and then ducked behind a turning in the wall to meet Hemikh and Lavakhat. Hemikh had a horn of some strong-smelling Dothraki liquor that he and Lavakhat were passing back and forth. Lavakhat offered the horn to Jaime, which he accepted. He took a large swallow of the stuff and it burned all the way down, tasting strongly of anise. Jaime had heard that Dothrakis favored a mild alcoholic drink made from fermented mare’s milk: this wasn’t it. He passed the horn back to Lavakhat. 

The plan that Brienne had discussed with the men involved distracting the old woman who attended the door to the Maidenvault so that Jaime could slip inside and find Brienne’s chambers. The details had been left up to them, and they seemed very pleased with themselves about whatever diversion they had come up with. Jaime indicated that he was ready to go in, and Hemikh handed the horn to Lavakhat, who thumped him on the back heartily. Hemikh then turned to Jaime and gave him a hard thump on the back for good luck as well and swaggered out into the corridor straight for the crone, who was half-dosing on a chair by the door, her chins sunk onto her chest. 

Hemikh stopped right in front of her and spoke a few guttural words of Dothraki, smiling all the while. The woman was looking at him suspiciously when he simply put his hands to either side of his hips and imitated thrusting into a woman. The crone’s first reaction was to let her jaw drop in astonishment, so Hemikh made the movement again, and then pointed to himself and to her. He held out his large callused hand and to Jaime’s astonishment the woman allowed Hemikh to help her off the stool and then lead her away to a storage closet the other direction from the wall they were hiding behind. Lavakhat had to push Jaime laughingly forward before he remembered he was supposed to be going through the unguarded door. As he reached it and pulled it open he heard the muffled grunting of Hemikh and the surprisingly dramatic moaning of the woman. He tried not to laugh too loudly as he went through the door. 

Once inside he had to pause to get his bearings. He had been in this building before, but he was not very familiar with it. Brienne had told him how to find her chambers, so he started off down the left hallway as she had told him. About halfway down he heard the big door at the entrance open and shut, and he paused in a shadowy area between torches, keeping the cloak’s hood pulled low. He peered back down the hallway and was dismayed to see his sister, still weaving a little, coming down the hall. She was grumbling to herself and her hair was mashed down on one side of her head where she had rested it against the arm of the couch. 

Jaime pulled the hood down over his face even further and started slowly walking forward again. Cersei eventually caught up and stepped right in front of him. “ _You!_ ” She said in an accusatory voice. Jaime stopped, preparing for the confrontation to come. Cersei pointed her finger at him threateningly, and hissed, “You ugly beast of a woman! Did you really think that _Jaime Lannister_ could end up with a sorry freckled freak like you?” Cersei was peering up into the darkness of the hood now, but her eyes were unfocused and she was shaking with hatred. “Do you think he’s going to want to fuck a grotesque gargoyle who is barely even a woman?” She poked him sharply in the arm with her finger, “Gods, just look at yourself.” She said coldly, “Your muscles are bigger than Jaime’s! You are nothing but a travesty of a woman.” Jaime held his breath in astonishment as Cersei’s tirade continued; he couldn’t even imagine what Brienne might have done in his place. “You know what, Beastly Brienne?” Cersei nearly spat, “Jaime has always been mine and he always will be. He is going to come running back to me the second he knows I’ll have him. So when something bad happens to you out there in the big wide north, and something _will_ , you will be all alone. There will be no Jaime there protecting you, because he is going to be with _me_. He only wants to be with me. He’ll be fucking _me_ so hard he won’t even bother thinking about you.” And just like that Cersei had said what she wanted to say and continued on down to her door without looking back. She fumbled at the latch for a second and went inside.

When she had gone Jaime stood for a long moment, his heart beating so erratically that he felt dizzy. He had known that Cersei hated Brienne, but he hadn’t had any idea it went so deep. She had actually just threatened Brienne’s life. His Wench, _his Brienne_.  She couldn’t have been serious, could she? Was Cersei just drunk enough to make idle threats in her jealousy over his closeness with Brienne? Cersei words implied that she didn’t believe they were lovers, even though everyone else seemed to think so. But she must have thought there was some risk of it to be warning Brienne away. Her threats about getting Jaime back in her bed were probably much more disturbing to him than they would have been to Brienne…or _would_ that have upset Brienne? Perversely he rather hoped it would have, even though he was glad that she hadn’t had to hear it.

Cersei had really underestimated Brienne if she thought that threatening her with some vague danger would scare her. Cersei may have been too drunk to realize that Brienne would have been cautioned but not afraid. As Jaime thought about it he realized that Brienne probably would never even have mentioned Cersei’s threats and insults to him at all. Brienne might underestimate what Cersei was willing to do to eliminate a rival or to get what she wanted, but if the rumors were to be believed about all of the people Cersei had given to Qyburn to torture and kill she was more dangerous than he had thought. Gods, she had sounded so deranged, so unlike her usual calculated hostility. He would need to warn Brienne, and to keep a careful watch for her safety himself.

Jaime came to the door that should be Brienne’s, and as promised she had looped a delicate blue ribbon through the latch so that he would know he had the right chamber.

Jaime opened the door and entered the room that Brienne had spent most nights in since they had come to the Red Keep for his trial. The room was large and sumptuous, with green and gold gathered draperies at intervals along the light brown walls. The floor had a stylized forest scene rendered in inlaid wood and colored stone. Jaime saw that there was a small table with a gilded tray on it set next to one of the arched windows. There the maid had set out the bread and cheese and dried apricots he had purchased earlier in the day. A flagon of good Dornish wine and two carved and intricately painted wine cups stood ready, while several fat, sweet-smelling candles graced the middle of the table.  The maid had placed lit candles on the sills of the three windows and on the small tables on either side of the bed. 

The bed itself was square with each side longer than he and Brienne were tall. The huge spiral posts at each corner supported a canopy of flowing draperies in the same color as those on the walls, but of a finer, more translucent cloth. The draperies were tied back with sashes and Jaime could see that there were several small pillows scattered on the bed as well as two enormous pillows covered in velvet. He hoped they were stuffed with Stark Swan feathers.

Jaime found his saddle bag in the ornate chest at the foot of the bed. He set it on the bed and took out the leather rose and placed it under the pillow on the left side of the bed. Brienne usually slept to the left of him wherever they were. Jaime pulled some soft tan breeches and a white cotton shirt to sleep in out of the bag. He and Brienne seldom had the luxury of changing into sleeping clothes when they were on the road. Aside from looking forward to sleeping in such a comfortable bed with the wench, Jaime wanted to feel a little civilized for a change and to look a little more civilized for her. He quickly changed out of the clothes he had worn all day, hoping Brienne wouldn’t arrive before he was ready. He dashed water on his face from the basin that sat on a chest of drawers in one corner and then dried off with a small towel. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it out, but then decided with a shrug to use Brienne’s brush, which was also sitting there next to the basin. Jaime was amused by his own preparations to spend the night with the woman he had spent over two years sleeping next to. Gods be good, he would have years yet to sleep beside her.

Once Jaime had changed clothes and cleaned up he started to become a little nervous and impatient for Brienne to arrive. He wasn't sure whether to sit on the bed or on a chair next to the table. No, not the bed, the thing had seduction written all over it, and tonight was about so much more. He walked over by the table but then decided to look around the room, to see what little signs of Brienne he might find there. 

He saw her armor neatly laid out in one corner and remembered watching her arm up the other day when she hadn’t known he had been watching. The woman really had no idea how the sight of her stirred him sometimes. Like seeing her eyes when they sparred, their wild elation when she was engaging him in battle and not holding back, trading stroke for stroke, weaving in and out of the intricate dance they created together. Not for the first time Jaime imagined seeing that look in her eyes as he moved with her in a far more intimate dance, when she would take him inside and he would move in her, make her call out his name like she had in her sleep last night. Jaime found he was resting his hand on Brienne’s armor and it had warmed under his touch. His cock was tenting the loose breeches he wore and his heart was beating faster. _Damn, this is ridiculous_ , he thought, _I want the woman so badly even her armor makes me hard_.  He stepped away from the armor and tried to focus on something bland. _I had better sit down in case she comes in_ , he thought, and went to sit in one of the chairs. 

He concentrated on the forest scene on the floor, the trees picked out in blocky shapes with stone and wood which somehow still managed to convey a true forest in all its variety. He could almost imagine the sound of birds, the scrabbling of small rodents on the forest floor. He thought about when he and Brienne had been making their way through forested areas like this when they were on the road to King’s landing, before their capture and his maiming. He looked up from the floor, trying to escape the images that came to him of the Bloody Mummers and how badly they had beaten Brienne, how badly they had beaten them both.

He looked over to the bed, wondering if she would be pleased with the rose. Roses were romantic, weren’t they? And this one would last forever. She could keep it when they went north, a small reminder of spring and his regard for her. He found himself staring at the bed and his thoughts began to drift again. He began to wonder if maybe with all of the nights Brienne had spent in this room when he had still been locked on the second level of the dungeons if she had thought of him while she lay alone in that bed. Maybe she had even reached down and touched herself as she thought of him, had caressed and rubbed  between her legs until her hips rose against her own hand, imagining it was him, coming undone with a shudder, moaning. _Crud_. He was never going to get his arousal under control before she got there.  
  
Dornish poetry. Now what was the first line of Captain Harrigan’s Defeat? Just trying to remember that boring epic calmed his breathing as the blood moved sluggishly back to his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commenters have their choice of a virtual cup of fermented mare's milk or a horn of Dothraki Ouzo. I take no responsibility for your actions afterwards. If you want Hemikh's number you'll have to get in line.
> 
> As ever, your comments mean the world to me. Love you all!


	13. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion got right to the point. Not looking up at her he said “What are your intentions toward my brother?”
> 
> “My intentions?” Brienne asked, confused.
> 
> “Yes, your intentions. Despite our differences I care deeply for Jaime. I always figured that Cersei would rip his heart out eventually, but I could do nothing to part them or to prevent the inevitable pain when Jaime came to realize the truth about our sweet sister.”
> 
> “What has this to do with me?” Brienne asked suspiciously.
> 
> “Don’t be coy, Lady Brienne. You and Jaime…  ” Tyrion sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you and Jaime are to each other. But I think I know what you are to him.”
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Brienne has an epiphany and finally arrives at the Maidenvault to spend the night there with Jaime._

As Brienne strode away in Jaime’s cloak she was glad that he couldn’t see her face, which must have flamed as red as the cloak she was wearing. Her heart thudded in her chest and she set her hand over it, as though she could still its erratic beating with a touch. _She_ kissed _him_. What in the seven hells had she been thinking? She raised her hand to her lips, touching her fingertips to them. _Traitorous lips, traitorous heart. Traitorous Jaime_ , she thought, _making me lose control, driving away all of my good sense_.

Earlier in the night when he kissed her in his room this game seemed less dangerous. When did it cease to feel safe? Sometime between dinner and what happened just outside the Queen’s Ballroom, when Jaime demanded she confide in him, she realized. Rather than needling her with words to get the answers he wanted, Jaime had used his body to impel her to answer him. With effortless power and grace he'd pivoted to cage her in and pressured her to yield. It was a move for the sparring grounds, but in the field it wouldn’t have surprised her half so much. In the field it wouldn’t have felt so raw, so personal. 

It was more than Jaime’s insistence on having Brienne repeat what she’d said when he teased her about Loras, more than his indignant fury when she told him what Hunt had said to her. This was Jaime letting the man he was react to her as a woman in a way that felt like she was not his sparring partner but his conquest. Jaime’s intensity and nearness made her body respond with a deep, instinctive yearning that pierced down to her core. Brienne had tried hard to deny the urge to yield, and when he first leaned her back and kissed her she’d held her ground and not responded. But when he pressed up against her and made her feel how much he wanted her both body and soul, looking into her eyes and willing her to feel it too, she weakened. He touched her face and said ‘ _My Brienne_ ’ in that deep, wanting voice, and she had fallen into their kiss and been undone. 

The kisses that followed in an evening already full of surprises were less intense, but the sense of things changing between them was palpable. There had been an easy affection between them for a very long time, but in these last few days it all seemed different. Jaime seemed to be deliberately pushing at the boundaries of their friendship.

Brienne paused in her stride, a thought that had been hovering over her finally coalescing into something tangible: _Maybe he isn’t just playing a game. Is he trying to turn our long friendship into something else, something more…?_  Brienne stood still in the corridor, turning the thought over in her head, trying to examine it from different angles as her doubts raced ahead of her, at every turn warring with the sudden awareness that this seemed true, that Jaime wanted there to be something more intimate between them than what they already had. 

_It’s just physical_ , her doubts clamored at her, _he has been celibate a long time and he needs a woman_. Brienne mulled the thought over for a moment. There was some truth in it, she understood that. She admitted to herself that she was not innocent of wanting Jaime in that way as well, her love of him always tangled up in her desire for him. _He could have any woman,_ she thought, _he could have Cersei again, if he wanted to and if he had completely lost his mind_. _He could have had that serving girl tonight for one of his smiles_. But he’d been strangely faithful to Brienne, even though their relationship wasn't about sex or desire. 

_Wasn’t it_? She thought, remembering the times when they’d been drinking together and one of them had kissed the other. Sometimes the kisses were harmless, tentative, taken for comfort or reassurance. Other times they hadn’t been so innocent. Those kisses she locked away in her memory and only brought out to examine and ruminate on when she found herself overcome by grief for what she could never have, intent on torturing herself for daring to love unrequited. She leaned back against the wall, remembering a run-down tavern in some no-name northern town, both she and Jaime piss drunk on the local rum. Jaime’s lips on hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her tight, his hunger undeniable as he kissed and nuzzled her neck; his voice low and burred as he whispered into her hair that he loved her. _Loved her_. Gods, to remember such a thing, when they both should have been too drunk to recall it or give it credence.

Brienne was guilty of the same lapses as Jaime; more than once she had sought out his kisses, reveling in the passion they awoke in each other. They would let the alcohol leach away their inhibitions, but neither of them ever let it go too far. There was always a boundary they could step back from and blame it on the alcohol, on the too real possibility that any day might be their last, balanced on the sharp blade between death and survival.

Brienne prayed that she never admitted to Jaime how she loved him during one of those unguarded moments, hadn't slurred out some pathetic vow of eternal devotion. If she had, she prayed to the seven that he remembered it no better than she did. 

Brienne didn’t remember which of them had sought the first drunken kiss from the other; likely it was a mutual thing after some particularly horrific battle against the Others. Their first real kiss had actually been on the Quiet Isle. Jaime took her there after they defeated Lady Stoneheart. The Penitent Brothers had taken her in, gravely wounded and not expected to survive. Brienne had been delirious with fever and pain, her will to live shattered like her vows and her spirit. The elder Brother told her later that Jaime had lain next to her the whole time. He had held her and bound her to the world with his arms and his will. She remembered little but fever dreams from those weeks, but there was one memory as bright and strong as the summer sun back home; Jaime, watching her as she opened her eyes for what might have been the first time since they had come to the isle. Barely able to focus, she saw his concerned face, had been lucid enough to fancy his eyes the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and as her own eyes started closing again to fade back into oblivion Jaime lowered his head and kissed her softly on the lips. She heard him say “ _Don’t leave me, Brienne. Please, don’t ever leave me again_.” And she hadn’t.

Brienne was grateful for the emptiness of the corridor as she let the old memories and the new roll through her, trying to catch hold of what it all meant. She had walked almost all the way back to the Queen’s Ballroom in her distraction, and she would need to walk back the other way soon to avoid meeting the people leaving when the bard finished singing. Jaime would be waiting for her in her chambers if everything had gone as planned. 

Brienne wanted to go to him, to be with him, as always. But tonight she was uncertain, nervous. What would this night hold? Would they talk and joke and hold each other in sleep as usual? It seemed like the barrier between being friends and being the lovers everyone thought they were might have become so brittle that if they brushed up against it much more it would shatter. What was on the other side of that wall? Would their friendship be forever broken, exposed to the intimacy of what it seemed they were becoming? Was Jaime willing to risk that? Brienne wasn’t sure that she was. 

She had turned to walk back toward the building’s exit when she heard the doors to the ballroom open. She began to walk fast, taking long strides, hoping no one would notice her as she retreated.

“Brienne!”  Her name was being called by a pleasant male voice. Dwayne. She was almost out of earshot, if she just walked a little faster...

“Brienne,” he was nearer this time. The man’s legs were even longer than hers, and he closed the gap in no time. She stopped to face him. Ser Dwayne was laughingly out of breath when he caught up to her. “Lady Brienne, where are you going at such a great pace?” he asked, his gold and green eyes alight with amusement, auburn hair burnished by the torchlight.

Brienne saw Ser Loras coming up behind him, walking fast but at a disadvantage due to his shorter legs. He was smirking as he caught up to them in time to hear Brienne tell Ser Dwayne that she was just on her way to meet Jaime. They didn’t need to know she was meeting him in her chambers.

“Wasn't he with you when you left a while ago?” asked Loras, “Don’t tell me he ran away when they played Cersei’s Strumpet Stomp?” Brienne gave Loras a sour look, which he chuckled at. The dignity of others seldom mattered to Loras. “Oh, but you missed it, Brienne,” Loras told her gleefully, “Cersei got pulled up on the dance floor by Brad the Bard, and she actually danced a couple of verses of the Stomp with him.”

Brienne examined Loras’ face to see if he was kidding, but he was too good at this game to let it show. She turned and looked up at Ser Dwayne and he nodded in confirmation. “Cersei must have been really drunk,” Brienne said. She pictured Jaime’s sister thrusting her pelvis with the rest of the dancers and suppressed a shudder.

“It was _Cersei_ ,” Loras said, “of _course_ she was drunk! Not only that, but that Brad does seem to have a way with the ladies.”

“And the men, too, no doubt,” Dwayne threw in, a little cattily. “But I’ll grant you, the man has balls to get Cersei to dance to that song.” All three of them laughed at the thought of what Cersei would have done to anyone who dared approach her during that song if she been sober, or had they not been as comely as Brad the Bard. Dwayne looked back towards the ballroom to make sure no one would overhear them, “She is still quite a beautiful woman;” Dwayne said earnestly, “but what in the seven hells was in her hair? Is that a Westerosi thing? The rendered animal fat look?”

Loras snickered, “That, Ser, is the latest trend here in the Keep. I understand that the price of bear grease has gone up tenfold to handle the demand for Cersei’s slick style. Everyone will be wearing it before long.”

Loras was making a jape, but Dwayne appeared to be taken in by the information. “Won’t that play havoc with the bear population?” he asked with concern. Then he grinned; apparently he was very capable of keeping up with Loras’ sense of humor. “And speaking of bears, Brienne the Brave, that was quite the story the bard sang about you. Did the Kingslayer really jump into a pit to rescue you from a bear?”

Brienne blushed. “Ser _Jaime_.” She pointed out firmly, “His name is _not_ ‘the Kingslayer.’”

“Ser Jaime,” Loras told Dwayne, “not only jumped in to save Lady Brienne, but he went in without a weapon and with only one hand.” He smiled at Brienne, his eyes twinkling, “it seems he is quite the romantic.”

“Or quite the fool,” Brienne said, hoping to end the subject.

They weren’t going to let it go. “That must have been quite impressive,” Dwayne said, “did he kill the bear bare handed?”

“With just one hand? Did he kill the bear single-handed?” Loras snorted. “No, but he risked his life betting that the men charged with escorting him back to King’s Landing would not let the bear kill him, and he made sure that the bear couldn’t kill Brienne.” Loras looked at Brienne with a smile, and for once it was not mocking, “Tell Dwayne what Jaime did when he leapt into the ring.”

Brienne sighed, but the truth was she loved telling the story herself, though she seldom did. “Jaime had already ridden away to go back to King’s Landing,” she started.

“He should never have left you there,” Loras added.

Brienne ignored that. “When he realized the danger I was in, he made the whole party turn around and come back to Harrenhal, riding hard.”

“What’s Harrenhal?” asked Dwayne.

“A ruined, haunted castle,” Loras told him impatiently. “Go on,” he urged Brienne.

“He followed the sounds of the crowd of men watching and cheering on the bear to slay me. At first Jaime believed I could kill that bear myself. He was ready to cheer me on when he saw that they had given me a blunt tourney sword. That was when he vaulted over the wall and down into the pit with us. He shouted for me to get behind him, but I saw he had no weapons, while I had a sword.”

“She’d already been mauled down her arm by the bear,” Loras told Dwayne, “and the beast would have finished her soon.”

Brienne nodded, wondering how Loras knew the story in such detail. “When I refused to get behind Jaime he kicked my legs out from under me and then stood over me,”

“Chivalrous,” Dwayne said drily.

“Hush,” said Loras, “you’ve _seen_ the woman fight. He had to knock her down to save her life.” Brienne looked at Loras in astonishment. He looked back at her with a lopsided smile, “it was romantic as hell, something only a warrior would do for another warrior.” 

Brienne smiled back; it made sense, Loras defending Jaime’s actions. Loras and Renly fought side by side for years; he had squired for Renly when he was younger and they had probably fallen in love then. Of course he would understand the bond between Jaime and Brienne on the field, even back in those early days.

“They shot the poor bear with arrows,” Brienne said, “and we climbed out of the pit. I asked Jaime why he came back for me,” Brienne said to Loras, offering him the final piece of the story she usually left out.

“What did he tell you?” Loras asked, like a kid waiting for the final sentence in a fairy tale.

Brienne said solemnly, “He said he’d dreamed of me.”

Loras and Dwayne both said “Aw,” and the three of them indulged in similar goofy grins. 

“How sweet,” came Tyrion’s sarcastic voice from below. They all turned to look down at Tyrion, but Dwayne was the only one who blushed. Brienne thought that while he handled Loras’ wit with ease he had a lot to learn about surviving Tyrion’s cutting humor.

“My Lady Brienne, how lovely you look in Lannister Red.” Tyrion said loudly, and this time Brienne blushed. She had forgotten that she was wearing Jaime’s cloak. She hoped they wouldn’t notice she wore his boots as well, as that would be even harder to explain. Loras and Dwayne looked at her with interest as her color deepened. 

Thinking as fast as she could, Brienne said “I spilled wine on my cloak and Jaime didn’t want me to catch a chill, so he loaned me his.” 

“How very sweet of him,” Tyrion said, looking very much the imp. “Just the thing a maiden’s true love would do. They should add that to the song.” Brienne wanted to drop-kick him. 

Loras looked Brienne up and down then, and she was certain he noticed the boots, but thankfully he didn’t mention them. “It was a lovely song,” he said. “Tyrion did not do it justice when he told me about it and asked me to make sure you would be there to hear it.”

“You both knew about it?” Brienne asked, aghast. “And you let me go in there anyway?”

Tyrion chuckled, enjoying her pique. “Of course we did, silly woman! Half the fun is watching you try to hide from your fame. Watching you hide from it in Jaime's lap was just a bonus.”

“I was not 'hiding' in his lap," Brienne insisted, "and besides, I have no fame,” 

“No?” Tyrion asked, “Well, if you didn’t before, you do now.”

“Arg, by the teeth of the Warrior!” Brienne exclaimed.

“And the teats of the Mother,” Tyrion intoned.

“Tyrion!” Brienne threatened.

“Yes, sister Brienne?” 

“ _I am not your sister_!” Brienne was incensed. 

“Hm, I can see why you wouldn’t want to be in that particular club,” Tyrion mused, “but the song did say that you and Jaime were secretly wed, which would make you my good sister.” 

“It’s just a stupid song!” Brienne protested, unable to stop herself from reacting to Tyrion’s words, “by the Seven, Tyrion, did you have something to do with its writing? I swear I am going to tie you by your ankles to Rufus and let you dangle until morning!”

“Well, some might say I could use more blood flow to my head. It seems that most of my blood tends to reside somewhat lower…  ”

Loras and Dwayne were both laughing hard by this point. Brienne couldn’t compete with Tyrion’s wit, so she whirled and tried to stalk away.

“Running from a battle, Lady Brienne? I never took you for craven!” called Tyrion.

“Say “hi” to Ser Jaime for us,” called Loras, and all three men chortled. Brienne stopped and turned to look at them, then came back to the little group, fists clenched.

“You ladies are worse than an embroidery circle of septas,” she announced, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to head for the Maidenvault now that Loras had as much as announced to Tyrion that she was going to meet Jaime.

“I don’t embroider,” Tyrion said with asperity, also crossing his arms.

“I do,” Loras said lightly, with a wink at Brienne. "I’ll teach you if you like,” he told Tyrion.

“I thank you, no,” Tyrion demurred, holding up his stubby right hand, “these hands were made for loving, not knitting.”

“Enough,” Brienne announced, rolling her eyes, “it is time for me to be going. Goodnight, Sers, Lord Tyrion.”

As she turned to go Tyrion said, “Wait, Brienne, let me walk with you a while.”

“Don’t you need to wait for your sister?” Brienne asked, looking pointedly back to the ballroom doors. 

“Oh, Cersei wandered off a while ago, when she saw the bard chatting up some lord’s fair daughter. I won’t trouble you for long.”

“I imagine you won’t,” Brienne said, “but I expect you’d trouble me for short all day long if I let you.”

“Ha, ha,” Tyrion gave her a courtesy laugh, but began walking so that she would follow. She waved to the knights and turned to walk next to Tyrion. It took a while to match her strides to his and she feared she was going to become tangled in her own feet the way she had to mince steps.

Tyrion got right to the point. Not looking up at her he said “What are your intentions toward my brother?”

“My intentions?” Brienne asked, confused.

“Yes, your intentions. Despite our differences I care deeply for Jaime. I always figured that Cersei would rip his heart out eventually, but I could do nothing to part them or to prevent the inevitable pain when Jaime came to realize the truth about our sweet sister.”

“What has this to do with me?” Brienne asked suspiciously.

“Don’t be coy, Lady Brienne. You and Jaime…  ” Tyrion sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you and Jaime are to each other. But I think I know what you are to him.” Tyrion stopped and turned to Brienne; he reached out and ran the thick, soft fabric of Jaime’s cloak through his fingers. “Jaime hurt me once,” he told her, “but he thought he was being kind, the poor misguided man. I’ve had a long time to think about what he did, and I can find no other way he might have acted given our father’s influence.” Brienne nodded. Jaime had told her of Tyrion’s first wife, the crofter’s daughter, and of his role in separating Tyrion from her. Jaime still carried the guilt of it.

Tyrion sighed, letting a little melancholy creep into his voice, “Daenerys was going to have Jaime killed for what he did to her father. It is not entirely to my credit that she spared him. Part of it was the way he faced her down, in the great hall there before the iron throne, part of it was my council, my _pleading_ , that she spare him, and a small part of it was the stories she heard about the two of you. Queen Dany is a very young woman, and she finds the two of you intriguing.” He shrugged and looked seriously up at Brienne. His eyes were green like Jaime’s, with depths to them she hadn’t noticed before.

“Don’t hurt him, Brienne.” He said simply, “have a care for his feelings; he is a tender-hearted fool.”

Brienne found she had a flutter in her stomach at Tyrion’s words. Did he really suppose she had the power to hurt Jaime? She was so afraid of risking her own heart that she had hardly given a thought to Jaime’s heart being at risk.

“I would never hurt him.” She said sincerely, hoping Tyrion would accept her words. She was uncomfortable discussing her feelings for Jaime with his annoying little brother, particularly when she hadn’t quite figured out what the relationship between her and Jaime was becoming.

Tyrion nodded, satisfied. He started to turn back toward the ballroom, but then looked up at her again, concern etched onto his features, making his scar stand out pale and raised across his face. “Don’t trust Cersei. She’s evil.” 

Brienne watched his retreating back for a long moment before she started walking again. Jaime would have been expecting her a while ago, provided he managed to sneak into the Maidenvault undetected. She wrapped his cloak closer around her as she approached the door to the outside yard. Jaime’s scent on the cloak surrounded her and she breathed it in with a little hum of contentment before going out into a raging storm. The wind tried to snatch the cloak away as she clutched it to her, and the snow was blowing so hard that it stung her eyes. She trotted across the middle bailey and around the sept into the Maidenvault, gratefully pushing the door shut behind her. 

She walked to the entrance where the crone drowsed on her chair. The woman awoke when she heard Brienne’s steps and sat up straighter on her stool, her eyes bright in their nest of wrinkles. “Lady Brienne,” she said, “decided to spend the night in your own chambers, then?” Brienne was about to nod when the woman went on in a cheerful voice. “What do you know about Dothraki men, m'lady?” she asked, with a broad smile. 

Brienne stopped, staring at her. Gods, did something go wrong with the diversion?

“I speak a few words in their language” Brienne told her, "they are fierce warriors.”

“Ah, but do you know why they call them Horse Lords?” the woman asked with an eyebrow raised, her smile widening until Brienne could see most of her surprisingly good teeth.

“Well, I assume it’s because -” Brienne started to say, but the crone wasn’t looking for an answer.

She winked at Brienne and lowered her voice so that Brienne needed to tilt her head to listen: “They’re called Horse Lords because they’re hung like horses!” the woman cackled, “and oh, can they ride!”

 Brienne drew back, embarrassed, an unbidden image of her horse Sean taking a piss coming to mind. She bit her lip hard to keep from giggling and ducked through the door, the woman’s bawdy laughter following her in.

She walked down the corridor and couldn't help imagining big, masculine Hemikh 'riding' the older woman, but when the image evolved into the woman with a riding crop exhorting him with yips and whistles to go faster she needed to shake her head hard to dislodge the picture. 

She was trying to think of something bland when she noticed Cersei in the hall, wrapped in a rich gold robe with mink trim. She was walking towards Brienne, probably heading to one of the privy closets. Cersei looked up and saw her, and her eyes widened for a second before her dark eyebrows drew down over them in a look of disdain.

"Now you are wearing his cloak, you ridiculous beast?" she sneered, "Does Jaime even realize that you have it? You soil the Lannister name."

Brienne took a deep breath. This night she would not let Cersei get under her guard. "Jaime bade me wear it himself, and I just now left Tyrion, who did not mind seeing me in it. As you are no longer a Lannister, by the young queen’s decree, I hardly see how _you_ can object."

"Did you not heed me before?" Cersei whispered, coming up close to Brienne, "Jaime only does this to make sport of you. You are nothing more to him than a curiously ugly pet. He does not want you; he has never wanted anyone but me in his bed."

"Really?" Brienne asked, "Then pray explain how it is that Jaime and I have slept together more times since he left you to go with me to the Riverlands than the two of you did in your entire lives?" Brienne knew she risked Cersei realizing that she had answered her euphemism with a truth that might only be perceived in an indelicate way. She was surprised at her own temerity in defending what _might_ happen between her and Jaime someday from Cersei's hungry grasp. It would do Brienne's already questionable reputation little good to have Cersei believe she and Jaime were that intimate, but at this moment she couldn't bring herself to care. She had the satisfaction of watching Cersei's face turn unlovely and red with fury. 

Brienne continued walking to her chamber, but turned around for one last dig, "I may be ugly," she said, "but _you_ are pathetic." She adjusted the red cloak possessively around her shoulders and went on to her room, not looking back. 

As she entered her chamber Brienne noticed the golden light that came from the fire burning in the hearth while candles flickered on tables and reflected from the windows. She saw that Jaime had fallen asleep on the big bed while waiting for her. He was dressed in soft nightclothes and his hair fanned around his head as he lay on his side in the middle of the bed, his arms wrapped around one of the big Stark Swan pillows, the other pillow under his head. His dark lashes fringed across his cheeks and his face was relaxed in sleep. Brienne imagined he might have looked like this as a child. His lips were parted, and Brienne shook her head at how anyone’s teeth could be so alluring. She ran her tongue over her own teeth and was struck again by the unfairness of falling for someone so close to perfect. Would she love him less if he were as homely as she? No, she thought, but she might be able to love him more freely. Even his imperfections struck her as beautiful, the break at the bridge of his nose, the scars he bore, the place where he had lost his hand but gained her heart. 

Brienne wanted to go over and stroke his golden hair, kiss his forehead, his nose, his lips. She did none of these things, because even though she was beginning to get an inkling that he might welcome them, she did not want to wake him just yet.

She was relieved that he was here and hadn’t been caught and sent back to his room in Traitor’s Walk, though if he had she would have simply gone there to sleep with him in his inadequate bed. 

Still, she was glad she didn’t have to face him just yet. The night had been too full of conjecture and revelation; she was glad of the chance to just relax. She swung Jaime’s thick cloak off of her shoulders and draped it from a peg by the door. She saw the flagon and food on the table and went to pour herself a cup of the wine. She sat in one of the chairs and took a sip, letting her eyes rest on Jaime’s sleeping form. Brienne was strangely touched that Jaime dressed in his nightclothes before she came. It seemed so normal, yet so intimate. Really, it was no wonder everyone assumed they were lovers, or even that they were married. Brienne willed back the moisture that came to her eyes when she thought about how dear to her what she had with Jaime was. 

The wine was running warm through Brienne’s veins already. It was several hours since they had eaten. They hadn’t dared to eat the revolting meal served in the hall earlier, and the bread, cheese and dried fruit on the table was tempting. She would wait for Jaime to join her before partaking, though.  
  
Brienne decided she might as well change into her sleeping shift. She set down the wine and went to the clothes chest where she stored her few possessions. In the bottom drawer she kept a couple of soft gowns she had commissioned when they had first arrived at the Red Keep. Jaime had been locked in the second level of cells in the dungeon, and Brienne had grasped at anything to take her mind off of his upcoming trial. She was practically catatonic with panic that she might lose him, so when a seamstress came to her to ask if she wished to order new clothing she readily agreed to it as a distraction. In addition to the two nightgowns she had given in to the woman’s insistence that she also order some court gowns, even though she never expected to use them. Her father had sent her money when he learned she wasn't returning to Tarth immediately after she and Jaime found Sansa. Brienne had been very frugal with it. There was more than enough left to buy anything she needed while she was here, and she also hoped to go into King's Landing for a few comforts to take back north with her. She planned to ask Jaime to introduce her to Tobho Mott. Hemikh and Lavakhat had told her that his shop was a place of wonder, and what girl wouldn’t want a shiny new dagger to take on the road?

Brienne decided on the robin’s egg blue nightgown. She pulled it out of the drawer and ran the silky soft material through her fingers and sighed in sensual pleasure at such luxury. She hated wearing dresses, but she could still appreciate something as fine as this. Brienne looked back at the bed to be sure Jaime was still fast asleep. With her back to him she shucked off his boots and then undid her belt, setting it on the floor. She pulled her tunic up over her head, her nipples becoming taut in the sudden coolness. She brushed her fingers across them, roused by touching herself like this with Jaime safely asleep in the same room with her. Brienne inhaled shakily and reached to undo the laces of her breeches. She rolled the snug blue suede down her long legs and stepped out of them. Next she removed her woolen stockings. The only thing left was her smallclothes; she had little enough in the way of breasts that she never wrapped them or needed support, so all she wore was the briefest of smallclothes. She slid them down her thighs and kicked them to the side. She stood naked for a long moment before bending down to get clean smallclothes from the drawer and pull them on. Brienne shrugged the gown over her head; it was cut to fit her and settled easily over her broad shoulders and muscular arms. The long sleeves draped gracefully and the neckline was deep enough that it was not binding. It fit snugly against her chest and then flowed in graceful lines almost to the floor. Brienne looked down for a moment at the delicate lace the seamstress had stitched around the neckline, and wondered what had possessed her to order something so pretty and frivolous. She had to admit to herself that Jaime had been on her mind when she had chosen the fabrics and cut of this gown. She hadn’t expected him to ever see it, and she supposed when he woke up he was likely to tease her about wearing something so girlie. 

She reached out for the brush next to the wash basin and ran it slowly through her hair, remembering those desperate days before Jaime’s trial. Queen Daenerys had cruelly made them wait for nearly a fortnight until she finally called Jaime to court. Brienne’s days consisted of occasionally sparring in the yard with anyone willing to meet her sword, eating when someone reminded her to, and lying awake in her big bed, staring at the ceiling. She knew every groove in the wood beams there, and her tears had run down and wet her pillow on more than one night. 

After Jaime received his lenient sentence just a few days ago she had only spent one night apart from him. Brienne sighed, thinking of last night again. She turned around, intending to retrieve her wine and sip it for a while, and maybe watch Jaime sleep for a little longer. As she turned she saw that Jaime had barely moved, but his eyes were open, watching her silently. When had he woken up? She’d been too bold dressing with him there, she realized, and blushed furiously wondering if he had been awake moments ago when she’d been standing nude with her back to him. Had he been watching as she ran her fingertips over her nipples? Would he have guessed what she was doing? Had she sighed out loud when she did? Brienne was in an agony between the embarrassment and arousal coursing through her at the thought of his eyes on her. Damn and damn.

“Jaime,” she said, trying to be calm, “have you been awake long?”

“Long enough,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. He moved to sit up and Brienne went to the table and poured him a cup of wine. She handed it to him and then sat down in the chair and took up her own drink. Her hands were trembling. No, her entire body was trembling, she realized. She sensed Jaime still watching her, and she knew what he wanted, because she wanted it, too. They had been able to deny this need even when their caution was undermined by drink, why shouldn’t they be able to when they were sober? Their eyes locked, awareness searing between them. Jaime got off the bed, and she saw his arousal pushing against his soft breeches as he walked over and set his wine on the table then sat down in the chair across from her,. 

“Wench,” he breathed, “you torture me, you slay me.” He reached over and picked up her hand and raised it to his lips, “you spin me about, and you must know how badly I want you right now.” He looked up into her eyes, expecting and finding the mixture of fear and want reflected there. Her hand was trembling in his own and he turned it to kiss her palm softly, and then nestled his cheek into it. Brienne drew a shaky breath and lifted her other hand to push it through his soft hair. He raised his head from her hand and leaned toward her, lifted her chin with his stump and kissed her. Not chastely, but gently, reassuring her that he was in control of himself, that both of them were aware that something bigger was at stake here than sex.

Brienne remembered wondering earlier in the evening if what Jaime had been moving them towards was just about sex, having someone to fuck. Unexpectedly, the question had been asked and answered. It was _more_ , much more than their physical longing for each other. 

“I thought you were asleep,” she said unnecessarily. 

“I was,” he said, tilting his head to give her a playful smile, “when I woke up I was sure I was still dreaming, though.” Jaime watched as Brienne considered his words, looking up at him through her long blond lashes, “I’ve never seen this shift before,” he said, reaching out to touch the sleeve. 

“I had it made last week,” Brienne told him. 

“Somewhat thin for sleeping outside, isn’t it?” His eyes were merry with his observation and Brienne looked quickly down at her chest, realizing for the first time that the fabric was thin enough to see the rosy tips of her breasts, to show clearly how hard her nipples stood out under his gaze.

“Fuck.” She whispered under her breath. “Bad enough I gave you a show over there without meaning to… ” she set down her wine and went to wrap her arms over her chest in mortification. 

Jaime reached out and laid his hand on her forearm, sliding it to take her hand and pull it away from her chest. He kissed her hand and laid it firmly on the table, his own resting atop it long enough for her to get the message that he wanted her to leave hers there. He held her eyes as he raised his hand and brushed one of her nipples through the silky cloth with his thumb. Brienne drew in a startled breath, as the sensation of his touch spread heat down her body to spread between her legs, making her cunt pulse with need. She took a shaky breath, and knew by the darkness of his eyes in the glowing candlelight that her own must be dusky with passion as well. 

As Brienne watched, Jaime lowered his gaze to watch as he caressed her nipple, his breathing uneven as he rolled it lightly between a finger and thumb. He looked back up into her eyes as he moved his hand and cupped her other breast. Seeing her breathing was as ragged as his, he brought his lips to the breast he held and kissed it. His raised his right arm and wrapped it around her back, pulling her closer to his mouth. Brienne watched as his tongue flicked out against the fabric before his lips closed on her nipple and drew it into his mouth. She shivered against him and moaned, letting her head fall back until her neck arched and her hair streamed down her back. Jaime raised his head and kissed her throat, moving his lips up the column of it, pressing his tongue to the pale freckles there. He threaded his fingers into her hair and sucked at the pulse point beneath her jaw, his own moan mingling with hers. Jaime stood and pulled her up with him, moving to take her lips with his own and kiss her, their bodies melding together. 

Jaime pulled away from her mouth and grinned at her, biting his bottom lip. “Was that all right?” he asked, “I meant to be more gallant, but the sight of you, Wench, by the gods,” he sighed, “the way you sound, the way you smell when you’re excited…”

“Jaime,” Brienne warned, embarrassed.

“So innocent, my lady,” he said and watched as she ducked her head. He put his mouth to her ear, “I’m glad that I can do that to you, Wench, because it means you can’t hide your arousal any more than I can.” 

His cock was rigid against her through her gown and she thought about all the times she had felt him hard against her in bed, and of her body’s response to him. Jaime watched the horror dawning on her face and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, Wench, it isn’t _that_ obvious most of the time, especially with all the layers of clothing we wear. But judging by the look on your face it happens a lot more often than you want to admit, or than I ever guessed.” Jaime looked insufferably pleased with his deduction. 

“Is it ‘gallant’ to mortify me like this, Ser?” Brienne asked shortly, feeling betrayed by the way her cunt responded to his words and the pressure of him against her.

Jaime laughed at her outright. “Serves you right, pretending you didn’t know what you were doing to me all those times you rubbed your arse against me.”

“Not _every_ time-" Brienne started to say and then caught herself. “Shit.” She growled shortly. “Fuck.”

Jaime put his hand and stump on her upper arms and propelled her toward the bed. “Sit down, my wench, and let’s eat before we fall over. I’ll bring the tray over.”

Brienne crawled over to the left side of the bed, and was about to settle there on her side when she saw the rose that had been under the pillow before Jaime had fallen asleep and pulled it against him. Of all the things to find in their bed, a rose wasn’t something she was happy to see. It was a wonder she could even bear to be near Loras Tyrell, she thought, with his stupid house sigil. She picked it up and saw that it wasn't a real rose, but one artfully made of leather, each petal carefully crafted and dyed in shades of red, the green leather stem long and elegant. It was beautiful, but it was still a rose. 

Jaime was carrying the tray over and saw Brienne holding the gift, dismay written across her face. As he set the tray down she looked up at him questioningly, holding it out. “What is this?” she asked.

“A leather rose,” Jaime said in confusion.

“I know it’s a damn rose,” Brienne said, “why is it in our bed?”

Jaime walked around to sit next to her and take the offending flower from her fingers. “I got it for you in King's Landing,” he told her. “For some reason I thought you might like it,” he sighed. “I take it I’ve made a mistake.”

Brienne looked at his disappointed expression and took some pity on him. “I’m sorry Jaime, it’s just that roses and I don’t get along. A man I was betrothed to when I was twelve delivered his rejection to me by way of a rose, and I have hated them ever since.”

“Connington,” Jaime said the name like a curse, “that toothless cretin. I’d forgotten all about the rose.”

Brienne looked at him in consternation, “Red Ronnet Connington? How is it you know him, and how did you learn about the rose?”

“He was with me when I returned to Harrenhal. I ran into him in the bear pit and he asked me about what happened there. He told me about your betrothal. _Now_ I remember him mentioning the rose,” Jaime told her, “just before I knocked his teeth out with my golden hand.”

“You hit him?” Brienne asked, “Why?”

“He needed to learn a little respect. When he told me about his part in refusing the betrothal I decided he needed to remember the lesson every time he tried to gum his meat thereafter.”

“You did that for me?” Brienne asked, surprise and perhaps even gratitude on her face. 

“No,” Jaime said shortly, “I did it for me.” He took the rose from her and walked back around the bed with it. He stood a moment, undecided, and then walked over and held it over the flame of a candle.

“What are you doing?” Brienne yelped.

“Burning the thing.” Jaime told her. “I may as well. This was even worse than the carrots.”

“Please don’t burn it, Jaime.” Brienne pleaded, jumping off of the bed and running over to pull his hand away from the flame. A couple of the petals were singed, and the smell of burning leather drifted in the air. Brienne took it from his hand and carried it over to set it on the chest. “What do you mean, worse than carrots?”

“Wench, in case you hadn’t noticed I am _trying_ to court you. I gave you carrots for your horse, just like that idiot Hyle Hunt did.” Jaime dropped back onto the bed in disgust, “And now I’ve given you a rose, apparently an even worse sin.”

“You’ve been _courting_ me?” Brienne asked.

“No, Wench, I’m trying to sell you on pig plock as a tasty substitute for real food. Yes, what the seven hells did you think?” Jaime scoffed, “Anything else you’d like to warn me about before I run you straight into some other knight’s arms?”

“Sure,” Brienne said, “don’t get a monkey.” 

“Too late.” Jaime said. “Anything else?”

“You do _not_ have a monkey!” Brienne laughed, “don’t you even want to know why no monkeys?”

“No.” Jaime said as Brienne sat back on the bed. He put one of the pillows back at the top of the bed and lay down with his head on it. He draped his right arm over his eyes and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Gods, but you exhaust me.” He mumbled, but Brienne could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth as he held back a smile.  
Brienne moved the tray to the foot of the bed and then snuggled up close to Jaime, resting her head on his shoulder. After several long moments he gave in and turned his body to face her, wrapping both arms around her.

“I’ve never been courted for real before,” she said, “what should I be expecting?”

“I would have said flowers.” Jaime said with a dramatic sigh.

“You gave me a flower once before you know.” Brienne said, kissing his shoulder lightly.

“Did I?” Jaime chuckled, “and did you have a fit about it?”

“No, I didn’t have a ‘fit.’ Not where you could see, anyway.” Brienne said, “It was a wildflower. You picked it for me when it started to get colder. It seemed to be the only flower left in the whole world and you told me it was to remind me that we’d see summer again someday.” She sighed a little dreamily, “I kept it.”

“You did? How?”

“Do you want to see?” she asked.

Jaime grinned and nodded. Brienne got up and went over to her armor. She picked up her helm and turned it upside down to slip a finger between the layers of padding inside. She carefully extracted a small folded piece of red linen and brought it over to the bed. She settled down cross-legged on the mattress, trying to drape her nightgown modestly across her legs, a task that had Jaime’s undivided attention. When she had herself covered she looked at him in triumph. 

“That’s cute, Wench. It’s like you don’t realize I can see practically right through your gown. Those smallclothes don’t cover much, do they?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Let’s see it then,” he told her, watching as pink suffused her cheeks. “The _flower_ , Wench. Get your mind out of the moat.”

Brienne set the linen on the bed and unfolded it to show Jaime the small dried flower nestled inside. Jaime reached out a finger and traced the delicate petals of faded red bleeding into a golden yellow. He looked up at Brienne. “You wear this in your helm?” he asked. Brienne nodded and shrugged. “Lannister colors,” Jaime said, “I doubt I realized that when I picked it. You wear it almost as a favor then,” he said softly.

“No,” Brienne, said, “I just...I like to keep it near me. It’s more of a talisman I suppose.”

“I would be honored if you would wear a favor from me, Brienne. If not this, would you carry something else if I gave you one?”

Brienne nodded, wide-eyed. She carefully re-wrapped her flower and got decorously off the bed, too aware that her gown wasn’t concealing much. She slid the linen back into her helm as Jaime arranged the tray of food for them in the middle of the bed. She picked up their wine cups and set Jaime’s on his bedside table, then carried hers around to her side.

She helped Jaime to take the loose cloth off of the aged cheese and used his dagger to slice both the cheese and the bread for them. She stretched herself across her side of the bed facing Jaime. 

“Shall we toast something?” Brienne asked, holding out her cup of wine. 

Jamie picked up his wine and held it out. “To us,” he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this super long chapter! Your comments encourage me to keep writing, and I would love to hear from you even if it's just a few words, otherwise it just feels like my story is floating out there in a big vasty nothingness.
> 
> Thumbs up to anyone who catches my Firefly reference in this chapter!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/nurdles)


	14. Jaime, Maidenvault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne worked their way through the food and wine, talking and laughing. Brienne told Jaime what she had heard about Cersei dancing to the Stomp with the bard, and Jaime told Brienne about Hemikh’s diversion with the crone at the door.
> 
> “You should have seen him, Wench, he walked right up to her, said something in Dothraki, and then he… well, he made a motion with his, um, his hips, at her,”
> 
> “His hips?” Brienne asked with a skeptical smile, “you mean like they do when dancing the Stomp and they bump hips?”
> 
> “No, not exactly,” Jaime told her, “it was more of a thrust, really. He thrust at her and she –“
> 
> “He thrust at her? That sounds odd. How did he do that? Was _that_ like the dance move?”
> 
> “A _little_ like the dance move. He mimicked fucking, okay?” Jaime said, biting his lip as he smiled, watching for her reaction.  
>  _Frankly I could hardly pick a paragraph from this story I wanted to use as a teaser, so all you get above is the first few lines. You have to discover the rest on your own._

Jaime and Brienne worked their way through the food and wine, talking and laughing. Brienne told Jaime what she had heard about Cersei dancing to the Stomp with the bard, and Jaime told Brienne about Hemikh’s diversion with the crone at the door.

“You should have seen him, Wench, he walked right up to her, said something in Dothraki, and then he… well, he made a motion with his, um, his hips, at her,”

“His hips?” Brienne asked with a skeptical smile, “you mean like they do when dancing the Stomp and they bump hips?”

“No, not exactly,” Jaime told her, “it was more of a thrust, really. He thrust at her and she –“

“He thrust at her? That sounds odd. How did he do that? Was _that_ like the dance move?”

“A _little_ like the dance move. He mimicked fucking, okay?” Jaime said, biting his lip as he smiled, watching for her reaction. 

“Mimicked fucking.” Brienne said, tilting her head. “I’m not getting a clear picture here, Jaime. How does one mimic fucking? Did he touch her when he did this?”

“No,” Jaime said, beginning to catch on that she was teasing him. “He was standing in front of her and he made this _movement_.”

“Show me,” Brienne said.

“Show you?”

“Are you embarrassed to show me, Jaime?” she said, looking at him over the rim of her wine cup.

“Maybe.” Jaime said, “I think it would just look silly if I did it.”

“ _It_ would look silly or _you_ would look silly?” 

“Both.” Jaime said, and took a drink of his wine. He set the cup on the table and picked up a dried apricot, popping it into his mouth. 

Brienne watched him, her eyebrows raised. “Did Hemikh look embarrassed?” she asked.

“Of course not, Wench, he looked like he’d done it a thousand times before. You know how the Dothraki are.”

“No,” Brienne said, “how are they?”

“They fuck in public, Wench.”

“Tell me he didn’t try to fuck that woman out in the corridor,” Brienne said with a laugh.

“No, he thrust at her once, she looked at him like he was mad, he thrust again and then held his hand out to her.”

“And then what?”

“She put her hand in his and he led her to a supply room.” Jaime shrugged.

“And then?” Brienne asked again.

“Then they fucked.” 

“How do you know?”

“I _heard_ them, Brienne. Both of them.”

“Hemikh must have been very persuasive.” Brienne said, grinning. “What a shame you won’t show me what he did, since I missed it.”

“Getting interested in Dothrakis now, my lady?” Jaime asked, leaning across the bed until they were nearly nose to nose.

“Maybe,” she said. “Probably. Could be I’m just intrigued by this magical move that had that woman following a stranger for a quick fuck amongst the mops and dust cloths,” Brienne mused, “I’ll never know, since you won’t show me.”

“If I show you, what will you do for me?” Jaime said, rubbing his nose against hers.

Brienne blushed, “Well, it won’t be a quick fuck amongst the cleaning equipment,” she said, “how about a kiss?”

Jaime leaned closer, his tongue swiping against her closed lips before he lightly pulled her bottom lip between his teeth. He sat back and smirked at her. “Nope. Looks like I can get one of those without making myself look the fool. What else you got?” 

Brienne was struck momentarily speechless, suddenly shy, “You just _stole_ that one.” Brienne said, “How about if _I_ kiss _you_?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Jaime said, still grinning.

“Well, no,” Brienne admitted, “I kissed you when we parted earlier in the evening.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jaime told her, “You’ve stolen more than one kiss from me before this, Wench.” Jaime watched her blush at his mention of their previous drunken kisses. Now that she accepted he was courting her he wanted them both to stop pretending there had never been anything romantic between them.

“You are trying to embarrass me, Ser, and it’s working,” Brienne sighed, “But very well, I admit to having stolen a _few_ kisses. My offer still stands: would you have an almost-sober kiss from me in exchange for showing me this intriguing Dothraki move?”

“Okay,” Jaime said, “but I want a real kiss. I want you to kiss me like you do when you aren’t afraid I’ll remember it later and think it _meant_ something.” He felt his heart speed up, recalling what Brienne could be like when she stopped worrying long enough to let herself take what she wanted. He observed her changing expressions as she considered what he was asking of her. Was it too much, asking her to lower her guard with him so soon? 

She nodded, agreeing with his terms, briefly meeting his eyes. 

Jaime got off the bed and stood in front of her. “Come forward a little,” he said, “as though you are sitting on a chair facing me.” Brienne sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight, staring up at his face several inches above hers. 

The light hearted teasing of moments ago was forgotten as Jaime moved closer and nudged her long legs apart, using his hand and stump to slide her silky nightgown up past her knees and over her thighs. He moved between her legs until he was pressed against her smallclothes and wrapped his left hand around her hip and his right forearm around her waist.

“I thought you said he didn’t touch her,” Brienne managed to say.

“He didn’t.” Jaime said and then slowly rocked into her. The firm muscle of his thigh ground against her through her smallclothes as he held her hips against him. He continued slowly thrusting against her, his cock hard and warm against her belly through the thin material of her nightgown. 

Jaime watched her chest rise and fall as her breath caught on a sigh and her hands rose to hold his waist as he continued to rhythmically move his body against hers. Brienne’s nipples tightened against the friction of his cotton shirt and the low neckline of her gown exposed the tops of her breasts to his view, her rosy areolas flushed with desire. Jaime wished he could take off their clothes and feel her against him. He groaned and felt himself swelling harder as he thought about finally being naked next to her. Barely managing to stay in control, he backed a few inches away from her, holding his body still with an effort. 

Brienne looked up into his eyes, as dazed by passion as he was. She pulled him back to her, rising up until her mouth latched onto his. Her hands came up and tangled in his hair and she pulled him on top of her on the bed. Kissing him deeply, her tongue exploring his lips and teeth, moaning against him and rolling her hips, she opened her legs and cradled him against her core. Jaime thrust against her hard, once, twice, thrice, Brienne watched as his eyes squeezed shut and he gasped with the strength of his climax; his cock throbbed against her as he spent himself, panting out her name, drawing it out in a low, shuddering moan.

Jaime collapsed next to Brienne and she held him as he shivered with the intensity his release had left behind. Jaime couldn't remember the last time he had lost control like this, like an inexperienced boy. He nestled his face against Brienne’s neck and she stroked his hair again and again, soothing and loving, murmuring his name softly. 

It had never been thus with Cersei; nearly always he had barely slaked his desire before their thoughts turned to his needing to leave her chambers. Even if they had been able to take the time he knew that Cersei wouldn’t have held him like this as his breathing steadied, as his soaring soul made its way back to his body. He felt a little ashamed for even thinking of Cersei as he lay next to Brienne.

Jaime kissed Brienne’s throat, moving his lips up to her jaw, sucking on her earlobe. She turned her head to capture his lips with her own and Jaime pulled her onto his chest. 

Jaime laughed a little, “I’m sorry, Wench, I tried to stop, but you -” but then he noticed that a tear had slipped down her cheek, the track of it barely glistening in the light. She closed her eyes and her lashes were wet with tears she hadn’t let fall. “Oh, Brienne,” Jaime said, stricken, “my sweetling, what have I done?”

Brienne opened her eyes, and Jaime was relieved to see the expression in them was not as sad as he'd feared. 

“Sweetling?” she asked, amused. 

Jaime reached up to push her hair away from her face, catching a strand that had stuck in the moisture left by the tear. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not. Not really,” she said quietly, “it was only that single tear.” She looked as though she was trying to gather her courage to explain how she felt to him, but the words did not come easily.

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you like that, moved against you that way when you weren’t ready.” Jaime said miserably.

“Oh, Jaime, that isn’t it,” Brienne assured him. “I think it was just… _watching_ you. Seeing you like that, gods, it’s hard to explain, but hearing you call out my name, seeing you peak…” she sighed and laid her head against his chest. “I know it’s silly, but it made me a little emotional, joyous, to see you like that. With me, _because_ of me.” 

It took a moment for Jaime to figure out what to say; he might have flippantly replied that it had been pretty joyous for him as well, but he didn’t want to spoil her revelation with a jest. Overwhelmed by her unexpected explanation, warmed and humbled by her generous heart, he held her tighter. He wanted to watch her unravel for him as well. He had imagined it so many times as he stroked his cock, needing and wanting her so badly, fantasizing about how hard he would make her come someday. 

“I want to see _you_ like that,” Jaime told her, his throat closing on how much he wanted it, wondering if she would be willing to let him try. He felt Brienne stiffen in his arms, her desire warring with her modesty. It would be better to lead her into it, Jaime thought, rather than asking for her consent. 

He began to stroke her back, kneading the strong muscles there, caressing her arms, her sides; he could feel it as she let herself relax. Jaime pulled her higher on his chest so he could reach the small of her back, massaging her and knuckling her spine before running his hand and stump over the flare of her hips, the rise of her ass. He found the pulse point in her neck with his lips and bit it lightly before sucking on her skin, slowly increasing the pressure, leaving his mark on her until she was squirming against him. 

Jaime slid his hand beneath her smallclothes and spread his fingers across one firm cheek, squeezing it lightly, giving her a moment to accept that his hand was under her clothes. He moved his thumb down the seam of her bottom before pulling her against his growing arousal. 

Jaime still felt the sticky moisture in his breeches from earlier and wished he could take them off; they made him feel like an adolescent boy who didn’t have enough control to keep from getting off while he was still dressed. Much of this night was making him feel like an innocent cub as he tried to learn the only lover he’d had besides Cersei. Everything was different with Brienne; everything was new, despite his age and experience. He and Cersei had lost their virginity together, but Cersei had always known what she wanted, had always let him know how to please her.

Maybe someday Brienne would be able to tell him what excited her, but Jaime suspected she had yet to learn that herself. As he moved his lips over her collar bone and slid them lower down her chest the small sounds she made guided him. He used his body to roll her onto her back and cover her, supporting his weight on his forearms. Her nightgown was tangled up around her waist but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care as her beautiful eyes dreamily gazed into his. 

Jaime badly wanted to whisper out his love for Brienne right then, as their souls lay bare to each other. Once before, unable to stop himself, he had told her he loved her; They had been drunk on rum as he kissed her and held her, but not so drunk he couldn’t recognize the feeling welling up in his chest that needed expression: _I love you_ … The words had echoed through his mind for weeks afterwards, tormenting him. The time had never seemed right for them out there in the bleak, black winter, knowing either of them could be dead and ash between one heartbeat and the next. So they had loved, quietly, desperately, neither daring to declare their feelings when there was already so much to lose.

Lowering his head with the intensity of his feeling, Jaime whispered silently against her cheek, her jaw, her neck: _my Brienne, my love, Wench, mine.._ while moving his body down hers, finding the neckline of her gown and tracing the edge of lace there with a trembling finger before pushing the fabric down below her breasts, the sound of her sudden gasp making his cock throb. He drew a nipple into his mouth as he watched her face, saw her mouth open in a silent cry as her neck arched back and he began to suckle the erect little bud, pinching and rolling the other nipple between his fingers as his hips moved against her like he had done earlier.

Jaime moved off of her and hugged her to his side briefly before beginning to explore her body again, moving his stump and hand over her ribs, over the slope of her belly leading down to her low-cut smallclothes. His finger brushed over the hair peeking over the top of the fabric. With a glance to make sure Brienne wasn't going to stop him he slid his fingers under the cloth, feeling the soft wavy hair there, unfurling his fingers against it and easing them lower. He felt Brienne tense.

“Trust me,” he said in a low voice, meeting her eyes. 

Brienne nodded, swallowing thickly, “I trust you,” she sighed, and stretched, her thighs rubbing together and then parting again slightly. 

Jaime traced the seam of her cunt with one finger, rubbing against it from one end to the other, over and over, without dipping inside. Brienne’s eyes fluttered closed and her breathing became shallow. The smell of her arousal was growing stronger, and Jaime knew as he pressed his thumb between the lips of her slit that she would be wet with the desire he’d awoken there. He moved his thumb against her clit for a moment, but was constrained by her smallclothes. 

He got off of the bed and bent to use his hand and his teeth to pull the fabric down her thighs and off of her, indulging in a lingering look at her cunt as she lifted her head to watch him. He wanted to lower his head and kiss her there, to spread her thighs as he licked her and sucked her until she came against him. _Not yet_ , he thought, _someday soon_ , he promised himself, but his mind was galloping ahead; he imagined plunging his cock into her heat after he’d made her come, sliding past her swollen flesh and riding her until she came again with him inside her. Jaime groaned with need and rubbed his cock through his breeches. _One thing at a time_ …

Laying back down beside Brienne, Jaime leaned over to kiss her as his hand covered her mound. He slid a finger into the wetness and began to rub it against her nub, firmly circling the flesh in a steady rhythm as Brienne’s hips rose and she pushed her core against his hand, moaning into his mouth as her kisses became more ardent, as she sucked at his lips and tongue. Jaime could feel her heart racing, matching his own beat for beat until she broke their kiss to throw her head back and cry out _Oh, Jaime_ …the same thing she had gasped out in her dream the night before, but leagues more intense, sounding almost broken as she shuddered with her climax. 

Gathering her into his arms as she had done for him, he held her and stroked her and whispered his devotion into her hair. When she had ceased to tremble and relaxed into a boneless softness against him, Jaime pulled what blankets he could over them, wishing the tray their food had been on wasn’t still on the bed. He thought about shoving it off with his foot, but the noise would have been too jarring. Instead he nudged it as far as he could to the edge of the bed. 

After a while Brienne stirred and tugged at her nightgown, which was no longer covering any part of her that she thought it should. “You could just take it off, Wench,” Jaime told her. Brienne smiled at him shyly and shook her head. 

“You wouldn’t have any spare sleep breeches I could borrow, would you?” Jaime asked her, “Mine are still a little wet.” Brienne looked at him in puzzlement. _So naïve_ , thought Jaime, but found himself at a loss for a way to explain without embarrassing them both. “You see, Wench, when a man peaks, his seed spurts…”

“Okay, okay, I understand!” Brienne said, raising a hand to stop him. One side of her mouth turned up as she caught him blushing. “I might have something you could wear,” she told him, “but they may be a little long on you.”

“Well, go get them, then,” he told her.

She stretched languorously on the bed, smirking at him. “Gods, Jaime, I don’t think my legs will work yet. They should be in the bottom drawer of the chest if you want them.”

Jaime bit his lip, proud of the state he’d put her in, and got off the bed. First he tried to move the tray off the bed, but couldn’t maneuver it without two hands.

“Here,” Brienne told him, kneeling on the bed to grab the tray and set it in his arms to carry it. “And while you’re up, we could use more wine.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, with a pointed look at her as she lay back against the pillows, trying to smooth her gown. It was almost as good as having her naked, he thought, as his eyes roamed over the rosy circles of her breasts and the hair of her thatch against the cloth. She made to throw a pillow at him but then thought better of it, hugging it to herself instead.

Jaime set the tray down on the table and walked to the chest of drawers. He opened the bottom drawer and reached in looking for the breeches. The first thing he pulled out was the second nightgown Brienne had commissioned. He held it up, examining it against the candlelight. This one had a more shaped bodice than the one she was wearing, but it also was cut low and made from a fine soft material that he knew would hide little when she wore it. The gown was white with whorls of dark blue worked into the bodice in thin thread. Jaime raised an eyebrow at Brienne. “Who were you thinking of when you had these made, my lady?” he asked, “They hardly seem the type of thing the Maid of Tarth would think to take on the road with her.”

Brienne blushed, but her eyes were bright as she watched him admire the nightgown. He continued to rummage in the drawer, finally coming up with a worn pair of breeches that were so threadbare that any form they might once have had relaxed into a softness not unlike the silk of her gowns. Jaime draped them over the chest and began to unlace his breeches, not missing how avidly Brienne was watching him. They rode low on his slim hips and he pulled at the laces with his single hand. Things like this always took longer since his maiming, but tonight he found going slow while Brienne watched him with her eyes still full of heat wasn’t so bad. Jaime didn’t turn away as he pushed the breeches down over his cock, half hard still, and pulled them off. His white shirt was long and fell to his upper thighs, but did little to hide the outline of his arousal. Brienne didn’t look away as he had expected, and with a smirk he picked up the other breeches, trying to get the waist of them open so he could step into them. 

“Jaime,” Brienne said in a small, soft voice, “I…, um, it’s okay if you just leave them off. If you think you can…control yourself.” She seemed surprised at her own boldness, “Or do you think maybe I should put my smallclothes back on? I mean, you know we aren’t going to…” she paused, blushing deeply, “…fuck. We’re _not_ going to fuck, right? It wouldn’t be, it isn’t..” she finally stuttered to a stop, looking at him, hoping he would rescue her from having to say more.

Folding the soft breeches lightly and putting them back in the drawer; he walked over to her and sat down on his side of the bed. He took her hand and held it. “No, Wench, we aren’t going to fuck.” He tried to look serious, but found their conversation too delightful and ended up smiling widely, his eyes dancing. “Not yet, not tonight. Somehow we’ve already gone from me trying to court you with an unwanted rose and a romantic meal to making each other behave like a couple of wanton teenagers.” He raised his eyebrows at her, “Do you think you can wait? There is still courting to be done.”

“Can _I_ wait?” Brienne laughed, “I wasn't the one who took a simple request to show me what Hemikh did and turned it into a near-seduction.”

“Only near, huh?” Jaime said, getting off the bed to retrieve the flagon of wine from the table. Brienne held out her cup for him to fill. “Seems to me it was more than near for both of us.” He refilled his own cup and set the flagon on his side table. 

Jaime got under the covers with her, gathering pillows to put against the headboard so that they could lean up against them. Brienne snuggled into his side and he wrapped his left arm around her shoulder, his hand playing with her hair. 

“Did I tell you what the woman at the door told me when I came in tonight?” Brienne asked.

“No, we never got to that. You were too anxious for me to mimic fucking you.”

“Jaime!” Brienne said, punching his leg with her fist.

“Ow! Okay, what did she say? Did she ask you about me again? Maybe you can tell her now that I look as good as I almost fuck.” Jaime flinched, waiting for her to strike him again. 

“This time she asked me if I knew why Dothraki men were called ‘Horse Lords.’” Brienne looked up at Jaime, grinning wickedly.

“That sounds pretty tame. What did you tell her?”

“ _She_ told _me_. She said it’s because they’re ‘hung like horses,’” she giggled.

Jaime lifted the blankets and pulled his shirt up a little. “Got me beat,” he sighed dramatically, “though I’ve never thought to compare myself a horse before. Maybe you _would_ prefer a Dothraki.”

“She also told me they ride well,” Brienne added around her smile.

“So you made me tell you Hemikh and the crone fucked and you already knew about it.” Jaime said.

“She _could_ have been referring to his horsemanship.” 

“Uh huh. Sometimes I think you’re not as innocent as you seem,” Jaime suggested.

“You have been a terrible influence on me, Jaime. I’m hardly the same girl I was when we met.”

“True,” he sighed, “I wish I could have spared you from most of what you went through when we were apart. Or even most of what we’ve gone through together.” 

“It wouldn’t make nearly as interesting a song,” Brienne mused. “Did you like the song, Jaime?” 

“Brienne, I actually loved the song. I know it probably embarrassed you, but it felt so much like it was about us. I’ve been wondering who helped write it.”

“Do you have any idea?” Brienne asked, “Tyrion and Loras both knew about it before the bard sang. Loras and Dwayne stopped and talked to me before I came to meet you here. Loras seemed to know an awful lot more about the bear pit than most people. Where do you think he heard about it?”

“I told Loras about the bear.” Jaime said, “Not long after you left King’s Landing with Oathkeeper. He was really the only person I could talk to about you, and he seemed interested in the story. But I don’t think he had anything to do with the song,” he paused, “I need to get my wine, Wench, I should have thought this out better,” he said, waving his stump toward the side table. 

Brienne crawled across him and retrieved his wine from the table and Jaime held his breath as she brushed against him. “So,” he said conversationally, “is this Dwayne someone I need to worry about?”

“Dwayne? Worry about in what way?” Brienne asked.

“You know, about him wanting to court you as well? He seemed a little too interested in you, Wench. He is a lot closer to your age.” Jaime’s heart clenched a little, thinking about all of the other things Dwayne had going for him: height, property, a title, no crazy ex-lover that was also his sister.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Jaime. I haven’t even sparred with him yet.” Brienne was growing a little drowsy, and Jaime’s questions didn’t seem very relevant to her.

“You’ve been betrothed twice already, haven’t you?” Jaime asked her.

“Three times.” Brienne said, picking up her wine and taking a large swallow.

“Three? There was the old man you killed,” Jaime started.

“I did _not_ kill him,” Brienne said with a chuckle, “I only broke a few of his old man bones and sent him on his way.”

“And then there was Connington, when you were twelve; I bet you wish you had killed him.”

“And missed the chance to hear you knocked his teeth out? No, but I did manage to beat him to the ground in a melee a few years later. That felt good.” Brienne smiled, remembering how happy that had made her.

“So who else were you betrothed to?” Jaime said, trying to get to the point. 

“Lord Bryen Caron’s youngest son, when I was seven and he was ten,” Brienne told him, “We met the once, and would have married before I ever got the chance to take up the sword. But he died a couple of years later of an illness that took his parents and sisters as well. My life would have been very different, I think, had he lived,” she sighed, “I don’t even remember his first name.”

Jaime thought about Brienne being married and bedded at a young age, never taking up arms. Possibly chafing under the role of lady wife, or perhaps settling into it, content to be in charge of a household and bear children. “Do you regret that he died? Do you ever wish your life had taken a different path?” he asked her seriously.

“I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t thought about it from time to time, especially when I first left Tarth and Lord Renly died in my arms, my sword as useless as cursing the gods would have been. Then when I failed to protect you from the Bloody Mummers, and when I left to seek Sansa and everything fell apart around me.” She said quietly, and Jaime wrapped his arms around her and rocked her like a young child, feeling terrible for his part in all she had gone through. “And then, when this happened,” she said, raising her hand to the puckered scar on her cheek, “it seemed I would die and never have any life at all.” 

Jaime felt his eyes prick with sorrow and guilt, for sending her on the quest that nearly killed her. He had been so foolish, not to recognize the vulnerable girl her staunch honor had hidden. She had been so strong, so fast, so capable. _Yet so alone_ , he thought, _when I should have been with her_.

She continued, “I don’t think that I was made to have an ordinary life, even if I had wanted to marry and have children. But,” she said in a small voice, “I would never choose any of it over being by your side these last few years, Jaime.”

Jaime felt his stomach turn over with an emotion so strong he could barely breathe. _Oh, Wench_ , _There’s so much more we could have, if we live long enough._ He took a deep breath, used his hand to turn her face toward him; “I love you.” He said, and lowered his lips to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, did I get you right in the feels? I'm calling this my "Chinese Mustard" chapter because it is hot and sweet. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Please leave a comment, brief or detailed: it would make me so happy! Come on and fangirl along with me.
> 
> A note on the use of the words "fuck," "cock," and "cunt" - especially "cunt": Not my favorite words, but since this is "canon" - trying to be true to GRRM's writings, those are the words he uses to describe sex and genitalia. He also uses "teats" to describe boobs, but I just couldn't go there. 
> 
> Thank you, dear readers!


	15. Brienne, Maidenvault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wench, we both have terrible dreams fairly often. They don’t mean anything; they’re just our imagination churning up our fears and worries.”
> 
> “But it was so intense,” she said.
> 
> “So was your dream about the giant aurochs in armor having a cup of Hippocras with Stannis, but I haven’t seen that one come true,” Jaime reminded her.
> 
>    
>  _Brienne's POV, continuing their first night in her chambers in the maidenvault right after Jaime tells Brienne that he loves her._
> 
> _NSFW, okay?_

“I love you,” Jamie said, and kissed Brienne. Of all of the kisses they had ever shared, this kiss might have been the most complicated. A kiss with so much more behind it than the pressure of Jaime’s lips against hers, more than her mouth opening under his and meeting his urgency with her own. More than “I want you” or even “I _need_ you," this kiss didn’t question, for it held its own truth: a complicated kiss that in the end was also the most simple: _he loved her_.

Brienne felt like she was spinning, falling, the world around her re-aligning in light of Jaime’s declaration. In that instant she believed him.

For all the intensity of the kiss, it didn’t last long. Jaime drew back and Brienne sat up and shifted around so that they were facing each other. Though Jaime’s kiss did not demand an answer, and his words were not uttered in expectation of one, Brienne could see that he hoped she would say something.

How many times had she imagined telling Jaime how much she loved him? How often had she reminded herself that she never could, never _would_ , tell him? Loving him came easily to her; the thought of finally telling him so made her heart flutter in her chest with a frisson of fear and elation. 

“I love you, too,” she said, the thundering of her heart so loud in her ears that she wondered if she had spoken the words loud enough to be heard. 

Jaime’s radiant happiness reached his eyes first, but the deep dimple in his left cheek was soon curving around a wide smile that left Brienne breathless, her own smile slower to appear but no less euphoric. 

Jaime grabbed Brienne and bore her backwards in a ferocious hug, rolling them both and laughing as they playfully wrestled on the big bed. Soon it became a contest to see who could pin who, to tickle or steal a kiss. Eventually the kisses turned sensuous and the tickles became gentle caresses. They lay facing each other, their heads at the end of the bed and their feet in the pillows as they lazily petted and nuzzled at each other, legs entwined, hands and lips gently exploring with no intent other than finally being able to do so.

Jaime gently began to pull Brienne’s gown up and she tried to quell the instinct to resist. Jaime’s shirt was the next to go, though he was somewhat more willing to be rid of his clothes. They lay naked next to each other, barely touching, Jaime trying to give Brienne time to overcome the skittish shyness of being so exposed. 

“Let’s get under the covers, Wench,” Jaime suggested, “and get some sleep.”

Brienne was grateful for his suggestion. Even though she wanted to be brave and confident, she felt overwhelmed by their new intimacy and the many things that had changed between them in the space of a few days.

They got back under the covers, briefly tussled over the pillows, and then relaxed into their familiar position, cuddled up with Jaime snug against Brienne’s back, his right arm thrown over her waist and her arm over his as she held his stump against her. Nothing had ever felt as comforting as Jaime’s naked body against her back, and she melted into his warmth. The feel of his cock pressing against her backside without the barrier of their clothing seemed both strange and familiar. Jaime was as chivalrous as he could manage and didn't take advantage of the position to nudge her with his arousal. Brienne smiled to herself and shifted her hips and thighs a little as though settling in to sleep. 

“Wench,” Jaime warned in a low growl, “play fair.”

Brienne laughed softly and bumped against him again before making herself be still. She could feel Jaime’s heart beating against her back, his breath on her neck as he lightly kissed her there. Brienne heard Jaime murmur _my love_ under his breath, and then, suffused with contentment, they slept.

Hours later, Brienne woke up and looked toward the windows to see if daylight had come. A violent storm was beating against the thick glass panes. Snow piled up in the corners of the windowsill and the bare branches of the trees outside scratched against the window as though they begged to be let inside to escape the storm. There was a glow that might have been approaching day, but it could just as easily be snowlight. 

It felt to Brienne like the more severe weather of the far north had finally found them after losing their trail for months. The inhabitants of the Red Keep were fond of complaining about the winter weather; everywhere Brienne went she heard someone lamenting the cold and snow, the scant hours of daylight, or how inconvenient it was to get wet and chilled when they had to go from one building to the next. Those here in the keep that had traveled down from the north knew how fortunate the people living in southern Westeros were. 

In the far north the sun barely rose above the horizon to the east before setting again in just a handful of hours. The old rhythms that most folk lived their lives by were disrupted; dark and light became an endless gray. After Jaime had been arrested at Queenscrown, just south of the Wall but north of Winterfell, they had ridden south as rapidly as possible, stopping only every sixteen hours or so to set up a rough camp and sleep; they paid no heed to whether it was night or day. Several times during the journey the party had needed to hunker down to wait for a blinding squall to blow itself out, lest they lose the track of the King’s Road and wander off course.

It was bleak country they had passed though. There could be little farming and game was sparse in a land blasted by winter. Those who had heeded the Stark’s message that winter was coming by working hard to store food, wood, and warm furs had retreated into their concealed shelters and were seldom seen; they at least had a small chance of survival. Small folk that had felt there would be plenty of time to stock their larders for the long winter had mostly tried to make the uncertain trek south or had perished in the long night; many did both. 

Brienne and Jaime would be back on the King’s Road going north in about ten days, along with Queen Daenerys’ force of Silvers and free fighters, an army of twenty thousand altogether. Jaime had been in command of nearly three thousand surviving fighters battling the Others and trying to push them back toward the Wall from their temporary base at Queenscrown before he had been arrested. Brienne had not been told what his status on the return journey would be, but she felt it would be foolish for Daenerys not to take advantage of Jaime’s skill as a commander and as a warrior. No amount of rumor or disgrace could change the way that men willingly followed him into battle. 

Even if Jaime were not given a unit to command, there was no reason to believe the two of them wouldn’t ride together, camping and eventually fighting back to back as they always did. Brienne knew that as dear to her as Jaime was before, the stronger bond they had now formed would make their need to be together and protect each other even more important than it had been before. 

But would anything else change between them? Jaime had said he was courting her; now that he had her love, did he consider his courtship to have been successful? Or was his intention in courting her to convince her to not only love him in return but to let him bed her? If that was his objective, Brienne already knew that she would have very little resistance to any attempt at seduction he might make. She loved and desired him, and her honor was already besmirched in the eyes of the world whether or not they consummated their love. Brienne thought briefly of her father’s disappointment in having his daughter so compromised, but the rumors of her being the Kingslayer’s Whore had no doubt made their way to him on Tarth long before this. As much as her father wanted her to come home, marry, and produce grandchildren for him he must have realized the chances of it were small.

Brienne suddenly thought about the risk of pregnancy out there in the wild north. Would there be a maester traveling with them to beg Moon Tea of? The very thought of making such a request made her want to squirm in an agony of embarrassment. Brienne might forever soil her reputation by finally bedding Jaime, but the thought of unintentionally getting with child really frightened her. When the whores that camped along with the soldiers became pregnant Brienne had seen the terrible physical toll to their unborn children the deprivation and danger of the north had. Few of the children carried to term in those conditions survived, and many times the mothers perished as well. 

As Brienne’s eyes began to close again in sleep, she imagined herself carrying Jaime’s bastard and wondered irrelevantly if it would be called Snow for the north or Waters for the south. _Or Lannister_ _for its father_ , her sleepy thoughts whispered to her, _Jaime is courting me, is it too much to imagine being betrothed to him_? Would Jaime even want more children someday, if the two of them survived to see the spring? 

Brienne let the thoughts curl around her as she drifted back to sleep. She was standing on a hillside covered with yellow and red flowers. Her hands rested atop the great curve of her belly as she gazed into the distance, watching as a vast storm swallowed all of the sunlight and new green in its path as it swept toward her. She looked around for Oathkeeper and saw it lying on a mound of freshly churned dirt, the red and black blade dulled and lifeless, spotted with old blood and soil. A sudden, wracking pain twisted in her gut. She fell to her knees, keening as blood soaked the ground and the storm passed, howling, over her, snatching away her dreams of spring and the future as she cried out _Jaime, don’t leave me_ …

And then Jaime was holding her as she gasped and struggled in his arms, tears running down her face. “I’m here, Brienne,” Jaime told her, “I’m here; it’s just a bad dream. Nothing but a dream.”

Brienne tried to focus on his face, trying to reassure herself that Jaime hadn’t been taken from her, that she hadn’t used Oathkeeper to dig his grave on a lonely hill and been left alone to bear his child. The howling wind of her dream rattled the windows in her chamber and hailstones pattered against the panes. Brienne shivered against Jaime, trying to choke back her sobs. 

“Jaime,” she whispered, “I’m sorry to have awoken you. I was having a terrible dream.”

“Shhh,” he soothed her, “Tell me what it was about.”

They had long been in the habit of telling each other their dreams, especially if the dreams were intense enough to awaken them. It helped to dissolve a dream’s power for them to talk about it afterwards. 

“It was so awful, Jaime,” Brienne said miserably, “I was standing on a high hill in the spring, and I saw that winter was coming in the distance, advancing on me like the greatest army of wights ever seen, and I looked around for you, and for Oathkeeper…” she took a deep breath, “and I saw Oathkeeper on a freshly dug grave, its blade dull and covered in blood and dirt. Then the storm was upon me and there was blood all around me, and I lost the babe, and the world just _shredded_ in the wind…and you were _gone_.”

“I’m right here,” he repeated, as she looked into his face, feeling his solid form against her, his strong arms around her. And then he smiled, a small, almost shy smile, “You were with child, in the dream?”

Brienne felt herself blushing hotly as she nodded and closed her eyes. She had been too carried away in letting the details of the dream tumble out of her to consider leaving that part out. She nodded and wrinkled her nose at him. “I tell you about such a horrible dream and that is what you find to pick out of it?”

“Sorry,” he said, “you’ve just never mentioned a nightmare child before,” he smirked, “I guess it just stood out.”

“Do you think the dream meant anything?” Brienne said, “I mean, not the babe, but winter overcoming spring before it’s even had a chance to take hold, the grave and Oathkeeper? I felt so _alone,_ so terrified that you might have died.” 

“Wench, we both have terrible dreams fairly often. They don’t mean anything; they’re just our imagination churning up our fears and worries.”

“But it was so intense,” she said.

“So was your dream about the giant aurochs in armor having a cup of Hippocras with Stannis, but I haven’t seen that one come true,” Jaime reminded her. “Or that one I’ve had where all of the pickled pigs’ feet served since we came here sprout tiny wings and go flying around the dining hall singing ‘Ode to Aerys.’”

Brienne chuckled, “I remember the aurochs: he was wearing Renly’s armor, which made it all the odder. But this dream of pigs’ feet? You never told me about that one.”

“That’s because I just made it up. I have pigs’ feet on the brain, so naturally I might dream of them.” Jaime tucked his feet between hers, “though I would rather dream of _your_ feet, with or without tiny wings.” 

“I think they would have to be rather sizable wings to carry me anywhere,” Brienne told him, giving him a little kiss on his stubbled jaw, “like dragon wings, perhaps.”

“Mm,” Jaime hummed, leaning his head back as Brienne found she was unable to resist working her lips from his jaw to the short bristles on his neck, tasting the salt there when she flicked her tongue against him. She felt him tense against her as she moved her mouth up, lightly biting his earlobe before huffing out a big breath in his ear and then sniffing at him exaggeratedly and nuzzling the hair around his ear with her nose before exhaling loudly in his ear again. Jaime started to laugh and cringe way from her, “What in the seven hells are you doing?” he gasped.

“I’m pretending I’m a horse looking for carrots,” she told him, then nipped his ear again.

Jaime sighed dramatically, “Finally, here I am, lying naked with you in a big, comfortable bed, and you decide to inspect me for hidden root vegetables.”

Brienne bit her lip, thinking of certain root vegetables not unlike a man’s equipage in shape. Jaime looked into her shining eyes and narrowed his. “I do _not_ want to know what you’re thinking, my lady.” Brienne began to laugh as she watched Jaime try not to imagine what she could be thinking.

“I had no idea you had so little respect for my dignity, Wench,” Jaime told her and moved on top of her, holding himself a little above her. Brienne felt his cock stiff against her thatch as he looked down at her, his eyes darkening and his smile becoming sharp. He watched as her laughter subsided, even though her smile didn’t waver. He looked at her chest and watched her nipples harden under his scrutiny and couldn’t resist grinding his hips lightly against her. Brienne inhaled sharply and the muscles of her thighs tensed as she felt the fire in her core ignite. Any modestly about being naked beneath him was forgotten as he lowered his head and circled his tongue around one nipple and then the other, then drew back to look at her face, to satisfy himself that she was as aroused as he was. He lowered his head again, moving his cock against her mound ever so slowly as he sucked a taut nipple into his mouth and suckled it hard, drawing her small breast into his mouth until she cried out and shoved her hips up against him, her hands rising to grip his shoulders, and then to push at him as the sensation started to overwhelm her. 

He released her breast and then licked just the tip of her nipple, dark pink and swollen from his attentions. He moved his mouth to her other breast and drew it more gently into his mouth, suckling on it in agonizingly slow pulses before releasing it. He reached back with his right arm and pulled her leg up, bending it until her knee and shin were braced against his chest as he hooked his arm around her leg to hold it in place. He reached down and spread the lips of Brienne’s cunt and moved his rigid cock so that it was pressed against her sensitive nub. He balanced on his hand as he moved, his cock enveloped in the wet heat of Brienne’s slit but in no danger of entering her. Brienne’s eyes half closed as her hands began to roam; pulling on his hair, stroking his chest, reaching out to hold his hips tighter against her. She raised her other leg and hooked it over his hip. Brienne watched as Jaime bent his head to watch as his cock slid against her moist flesh.  Their hips began to move in tandem, grinding against each other faster and harder.  

“Brienne, my love,” Jaime gasped, “we need to stop if you don’t want me to spill my seed all over your belly,”

“Don’t…stop…” Brienne said, her neck straining back as she arched into him. So he didn’t; he thrust against her fast and hard, and watched her peak before letting himself follow. Brienne felt his warm seed as it jetted out against his belly and hers as his release took him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments really keep me going! Thank you _so_ much to those who continue to leave them. When I started to doubt my skill in writing this chapter it helped so much to go back and read the comments on the last chapter.  
>  So once again - please leave comments, but even if you don't I hope you enjoy the read!  
> Also, I asked on [tumblr](http://nurdles.tumblr.com/) if the smut is getting to be too much in this story and the response seemed to be "bring it on!" So - their fault!


	16. Jaime, Maidenvault morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne brushed her lips though his chest hair. “I’m not trying to make it ‘rise,’ Ser,” she told him, a smile in her voice. “But as you have so boldly touched me where I had no more than dreamed of feeling you before, I thought it only fair that I be allowed to take your measure as well.” She had not lifted her head to look at Jaime, preferring to see what she was doing to him.
> 
>  
> 
> _How's that for a chapter teaser? Jaime's POV, morning in the Maidenvault._

Jaime settled into the bed, relieved to be back in their nest of blankets and next to Brienne’s warm skin. He’d retrieved his already soiled breeches and used them to clean his seed off of them both and then tossed them back on the floor. Jaime had expected the task to be a bit awkward, but Brienne hadn’t been bothered by the mess aside from briefly dissolving into ticklish laughter when he tried to wipe her belly clean. 

Now she relaxed next to him with one long leg thrown over his and her head on his shoulder, her hair fanned out to mingle with his chest hair. Jaime watched as she lightly drew circles through it with the tips of her fingers, swirling her fine, fair hair and his reddish-blond pelt in random patterns. Brienne’s earlier anxiety from her nightmare seemed far away. He wondered what she was thinking about now that made her so peaceful.

With the glow of their coupling still upon them, both lapsed into a comfortable silence. Could it be considered _coupling_ , he wondered, even though his cock hadn’t been inside of her? It wasn’t fucking, but the intimacy and connection they shared was so intense that in a way he felt like they had. He felt fulfilled, and not just from how good it felt to touch her and please her. Finally being able to really express how much he loved her was like removing iron shackles that he hadn’t known he wore. 

Jaime thought about the bard singing _Brienne the Brave_ the night before; the lyrics about how they had come to love each other were eerily close to the truth. At one time he might have said he first fell in love with her on the Quiet Isle when he’d almost lost her after their battle with Lady Stoneheart. Brienne’s wounds had been grievous; not just the broken arm and the re-infected bite to her cheek, but the deep sword slash she had taken high on her leg that she had almost bled-out from. 

Now he knew that he’d only _realized_ he loved her then. When had his love for her first taken root? _Was it the first time I fought her sword to sword? No,_ _I didn’t love her then; I would have killed her if I could have, but she was stronger than me_. Jaime didn’t like to dwell on how much poorer his life would be if had he prevailed in that fight. During their journey with his cousin Cleos he had already started to feel a strong respect and fascination for Brienne, but saving his own neck had been far more important to him than anything else. 

After his hand had been severed Brienne had taunted him into staying alive by calling him craven and awakening the hope for revenge in him. The Bloody Mummers had practically made her his nursemaid, forcing her to take care of him as though he were a child not yet out of swaddling clothes. It had been humiliating, but Brienne was respectful and never pitying. That endless, macabre journey bound them together in ways neither could have guessed. Jaime hadn’t yet started to love her, but the seeds of something stronger than regard and friendship were planted. 

The bathhouse at Harrenhal, _the first time the woman stirred my blood,_ he remembered. Feeling a little more alive after Qyburn’s ministrations, he’d regained his cutting wit and lost no time in belittling Brienne, even after all she’d done for him. She had risen up from the water, tall and proud, water streaming off of her like a goddess of the sea, daring him to mock her further. She had shamed him, shown him what real honor looked like. Jaime had apologized, asked for a truce, and then told her his secrets. _She caught me when I fell_ , Jaime remembered with a smile, _naked and wet and strong, yet so gentle_.  

Still, he left her behind in Harrenhal, believing she would be ransomed and returned to her father on Tarth. The disturbing feelings she had awoken in him would dissipate; he would return to Cersei, his _real_ woman. Leagues away from either of them he’d slept with his head upon some weirwood stump and dreamed. In the dream when his beloved sister left him to his own darkness Brienne had been there to light the way when his own light had faltered. He had seen her for the woman, the knight, the _beauty_ that she was. It didn’t hurt that they were naked in the dream, he mused. By the time he jumped in that bear pit, he must have already been half in love with her.   

     Jaime wondered when Brienne had come to love him. Not the kind of love they’d felt for each other for years now, the platonic love that kept them bound together, kept her by his side. _No_ , he thought, _it hasn’t been platonic for a long time, has it_? Jaime knew that desire didn’t always equal love, of course, but they went quite well together for them.

The storm still raged outside and the quality of light had changed, which meant that the sun was up somewhere beyond the clouds. Jaime’s troops would probably just be bedding down in the north unless the days had grown even shorter. He wondered if Ser Addam still lived and how many of their fighters survived. From time to time men, and occasionally women, arrived from outlying areas to replenish their forces, but they were never enough. Desertion was a factor that sometimes lessened their number; deserters seldom survived on their own, but it was nearly impossible to account for men lost and burned in battle, so the true numbers were never known. 

Jaime wished there was a way to fight the Others more effectively. It often felt futile to keep fighting them; their forces seemed infinite, attrition only lessening their numbers for a handful of nights before they were back in overwhelming force. He often wondered where they all came from. Did they breed, or were they risen from the long-dead? Some said White Walkers were made from human children, transformed and raised among the Others. Jaime doubted this; their numbers were too vast to come solely from such a source. Eight thousand years, the last time the White Walkers had threatened, seemed a long time to be culling children to build their numbers. They would have to be extremely long-lived.

Was there a vast kingdom of them further north than humans had ever gone, with fresh troops moving in to replace the White Walkers shattered or burned in battle? No one had ever seen a Walker that seemed to be female, so either there were none of they stayed farther north, safely breeding more of the demons. Jaime knew that wights were nothing more than reanimated dead, as were the disintegrating horses and pack animals sometimes ridden by the Walkers. 

But the ice spiders: were they spun from the rime to answer their master’s call, or were they hatched somewhere, swarming in their thousands from egg sacs woven from hoarfrost and terror? Some old legends made mention of ice dragons as well, but Jaime hoped those were just a fanciful stories invented to entertain children. If one believed in those, they may as well believe in unicorns and snow bears.

Jaime’s thoughts became distracted as he felt Brienne’s fingers start to roam down his chest, following the line of hair trailing from between his ribs to his groin. She was caressing and lightly running her fingernails along his belly, and he caught his breath and held it, watching as she quietly explored. His hand had been resting on Brienne’s head, and his fingers flexed into her tresses as she began softly stroking the short hair surrounding the root of his cock. 

“Really, Wench,” he choked out, “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, but my sword is unlikely to rise to any challenge right now. Twice in one night after so long with only my poor left hand to wield it is probably my limit.” Despite his words, he could feel the blood rushing down. Strangely light-headed, he felt as though he were floating in the warm seas near his boyhood home on Casterly Rock.  

Brienne brushed her lips though his chest hair. “I’m not trying to make it ‘rise,’ Ser,” she told him, a smile in her voice. “But as you have so boldly touched me where I had no more than dreamed of feeling you before, I thought it only fair that I be allowed to take your measure as well.” She did not lift her head to look at Jaime, preferring to see what she was doing to him. 

“My measure?” he said, “I fear it will do me no credit for you to take my measure at this moment,” though he felt the valiant stirrings of desire, he knew well enough that as good as she was making him feel his cock would need time to recover.

“Not what I meant, sweetling,” Brienne said, “you needn’t be forged of steel for this,” And she ran her fingers over his limp cock, wrapped them around it and rubbed her thumb around the head of it, learning its contours.

“Sweetling?” he asked in a strangled voice as his eyes closed. His blood pulsed as she gently touched his exquisitely sensitive flesh, eventually brushing her fingers over his balls and down his inner thighs. “Oh, gods, Wench, you’re, ah, you’re killing me. Come up and kiss me, my love.” 

Brienne turned so that she was across his chest facing him, the tips of her breasts brushing against him. Her eyes were wide and shining even in the low light of the room. She looked half shy and half triumphant over her boldness. She slipped her arms under his and kissed his lips. He gathered her to him, wishing he still had both hands to hold her with, even though he knew Brienne never thought the less of him for losing what he had at one time considered his most valuable asset. 

“I have something to show you later,” he whispered in her ear. 

“Have I not seen it all?”

“Oh, Wench, you have seen nothing yet. But I was speaking of something special that Toby Mott gave me when I was at his shop yesterday. Do you think we’ll get a chance to spar today?”

“I hope so. I have missed sparring with you. I mean,” she said, “the way we normally do.” Jaime laughed. “I’m looking forward to seeing Mott’s wares. Hemikh and Lavakhat tell me his daggers are beautiful.”

_So lucky to have a wench who knows what real beauty is_ , thought Jaime.  “Maybe tomorrow? I’ll send word to him today. I’d like for you to meet him and his wife. But I warn you, they’ll make you hold their new baby.”

“Oh? Did they make you hold it? Boy or girl?”

“Yes, I had to hold it. They tell me it’s a girl.”

“They tell you _she_ is a girl, Jaime.”

“Oh, right. Anyway, it was the first time I’d ever held a baby before.” Jaime grinned, remembering. “She pulled my hair and my beard. Must just be something girls do.”

“The first time, Jaime? You never held your own children, even once?”

“Cersei wouldn’t allow it, said it was ‘too dangerous’ to show interest. I wish I hadn’t listened to her.” Jaime said sadly, “if I had been able to hold them I might have felt more connected to them. Maybe it was for the best, though.”

“Oh, Jaime. How sad.”

“Now that Tommen knows I am his sire I wish I’d had more time with him. Robert was a rotten father and Tommen deserved at least one sane parent. Poor Myrcella is well beyond my reach now, but at least I got to spend some time with the lad.”

“Did you like holding Mott’s baby? What was her name?”

Jaime laughed, “Merrie Pie, of all things. Why would they call her after some kind of dessert?”

“Pretty sure that would be a nickname,” Brienne said drily, “like if I were to call you ‘Jaime-pie’. It’s an endearment.”

“’Brienne-pie,” Jaime said, testing it out. “Nope, doesn’t really sound right.”

“You know what I meant,” Brienne said, “it has to go with the name. Let’s see, Jaime…Jaime-bug? Jaime-boo? _Jaime sweetling sugar pie_?”

“Gods, no, Brienne. You wouldn’t.” Jaime chortled, “I am a grown man with a reputation to uphold.”

“For being a big, soft, cuddle bear, you mean.” Brienne told him, growling into his neck and nipping it lightly.

“Brienne-cuddle bear!” Jaime laughed, “Oh, I see what you mean, now. I like that one. Come, Cuddly Bear, Brienne Bear, why do you – ow! – bite me so?”

Brienne got up on her knees and straddled his middle. Jaime felt her warm thatch against his belly and his cock began to swell some as he looked up at her, her nipples tantalizing pink and erect just above his face. He propped himself on his elbows so he could take one in his mouth, sucking it in between his teeth. Brienne moaned low in her throat and rubbed her cunt against him.

There was a loud knock at the door.

“Fuck.” They said simultaneously and then laughed. Brienne quickly got off of Jaime and dove under the covers. Jaime got off the bed and looked around for something to wrap around himself. He briefly considered his pants of the night before, stiffening with old cum on the floor, and quickly went to the chest of drawers to grab Brienne’s old night breeches. 

“Help me on with these, Wench,” he hissed, holding them out. Brienne looked at the door, assuring herself it was locked, and quickly grabbed the breeches, holding the waist open for Jaime to step into and then pulling them up over. They didn’t bother to lace them before Brienne tucked herself back into the blankets and he went to open the door.

A maidservant stood there, with a little cart piled with linens and candles just behind her.

“Ser Jaime?” she said in a high, sweet voice, “I’m Agnes. I’m to be looking after you and the Lady.” She seemed to be around Brienne’s age, perhaps in her early twenties. 

“Come in,” Jaime told her, stepping aside so that she could enter the room. Agnes glanced briefly at the half-hard bulge still pressing against Jaime’s breeches before stepping into the room and looking over at Brienne. “This is Brienne of Tarth,” he told her, gesturing over to Brienne peeking out of the sheets. 

Agnes looked at Brienne, her light brown eyes lighting up. “M’lady, it is an honor to be in your service. I have heard much about your valor on the field, M’lady, and seen you about the Maidenvault as well.” Agnes let her lips turn up in a little smile, “so it _is_ true then, what they say about m’lord and lady?”

Jaime grinned at Brienne over Agnes’ head. “Of course it is true.” He said at the same time Brienne said “ _What’s true_?”

Agnes chose to answer Brienne, “It is said that the two of you are never far apart. If you’ll pardon my saying, m’lady, but there’s rumors that the two of you secretly married up in the north and have a bairn hidden away in Winterfell being cared for by the Lady Sansa.”

Jaime laughed and Brienne blushed. _Watch her wriggle out of this, naked as a mole rat in the bed we slept in_. 

“I am sorry to say, Agnes, but those are just rumors. There is no bairn hidden away.” Jaime told her, giving Brienne a cutting smile as she glared at him. He knew she would be flinging a pillow at him if she could have without exposing herself.

“Oh,” Agnes said, disappointed, “it sounded so romantic! Word of Lady Brienne’s new song is all over the Keep, m’lord. I must tell you, I much prefer it to the other songs they sing of the two of you, which are much bawdier. Although,” she said, with a sly look at Jaime’s breeches, “I can see how such rumors could catch on.”

“Can we trust in your discretion, Agnes?” Jaime said sternly, “Godfrey assured me that we could.”

“Aye, m’lord, and m’lady, I would never breathe a word about the two of you. As I said, mum,” she nodded to Brienne, who was looking daggers at Jaime, “I am ever so proud to look after you. I was grateful to get the chance, after my last assignment.”

“And what was your last assignment, Agnes?” Jaime asked.

“Oh, Ser, if I tell you it might be you won’t be trusting me to take care of the two of you.”

“I promise we’ll trust you. Now tell.”

“I was assigned to the former queen, Ser, to your sister Cersei. I accidentally washed her hair with bear grease, Ser, and just ran for my life before she found out.”

Jaime guffawed and Brienne tried to hide her smile. “You were afraid of her then?”

Oh, yes, Ser, my lady,” Agnes said, widening her eyes at them, “She’s frightful when she’s angry. I tried my best to keep her happy, and I don’t know how the bear grease got in that jar. I know she had to fuck Godfrey the Moan to even get a maid, Ser, but I had to fuck ‘im to get out of _being_ her maid.” She looked from Jaime to Brienne and blushed, “Oops, my apologies. That wasn't very discreet, now was it?”

Jaime was grinning widely, his dimples overcoming any shyness Agnes might have had in continuing to share her gossip with them. “As it happens, Agnes, the lady and I hope to avoid Cersei if at all possible. If you can help us do that we’ll be most grateful.” Jaime told her.

Agnes nodded, and whispered, “So that’s true, too, then?” Jaime looked warily at Brienne, who shrugged resignedly.

“What is true, Agnes?” Jaime asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to hear Agnes recount that everyone knew he had fathered Cersei’s children.

“It’s true that she’s wildly jealous of Lady Brienne? She should be, Ser.”

Jaime smiled and patted Agnes fondly on the head. “You’ll do just fine, Agnes.”

“Oh, thank you, Ser, m’lady!” she said. “Can I do anything for you now? I’ve brung new linens and candles…”

I think for now the lady and I need a little privacy,” Jaime told her, “I need to get ready to sneak past the lady that guards the door, and Lady Brienne didn’t get much sleep last night.” He almost ducked, expecting a Stark Swan pillow to fly through the air.

“Oh, Helyn? She’s not at the door just now, Ser. She told me she had to see a horse about a man? Or was that a man about a horse? Though she mighta been drinking, m’lord, because it sounded like she said a man _like_ a horse. I don’t know when she’ll be back at her post. Her older sister, Felyse, is sitting in for her, but she’s blind as a cave newt.”

“All the same, Agnes, if you could come back in an hour or so? And later tonight we’ll be wanting a hot bath. And a large tub, if you can get us one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your reviews keep these updates prompt, so take the hint and leave one, won't you? I try to always to reply to reviews, usually right after I get the next chapter up. Thinking of a Tyrion POV for the next one.


	17. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime hesitated before speaking haltingly, “Despite the rumors, we have only very recently… that is to say, we… Tyrion, the time just hasn’t been right! We've been cheating death night after night for so long, just grateful for each new day we live to see. Being here in the Keep, it’s the first time we’ve really had the chance… to… I’ve only just started really courting her, Tyr. The feelings have been there a long time, but… ”
> 
> Tyrion bit his lip, enjoying seeing Jaime’s discomfiture. “So, it was okay for her to be the Kingslayer’s Whore, but now you want to do things right?” he asked.
> 
> “She was never my whore!” Jaime said hotly.
> 
>  
> 
> _Tyrion POV. Lots of dialog, some funny snark, and some smut. Enjoy!_

Tyrion left Daenerys’ royal chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast and crossed the dry moat, pausing to look up at the half dozen frozen heads impaled on iron spikes. In winter they hardly stank at all, and the snow rounded over the tops made them much less gruesome than usual. Tyrion remembered his father bringing him here when he was about six years old and insisting they linger on the bridge next to the mounted heads. He had been made to look upon each one as its fate was described in loving detail by his father, along with whatever misdeeds had led to their beheading. In those days Tywin had been the Hand of Daenerys’ father, mad king Aerys, and he seemed to relish frightening Tyrion with the more horrific aspects of life in the Red Keep. Tyrion had still been young enough to have some hope of his father’s approval, so he'd studied those rotting, stinking heads diligently, as though he would be quizzed about them later. All it had ever gotten him was nightmares.

Tyrion wondered if Jaime and Cersei had also been brought along to the Keep when they were younger to sit at Tywin’s knee in the Tower of the Hand. He imagined their father showing off the golden twins, introducing them proudly to the people they would someday rule over; Cersei as queen, Jaime as Lord of Casterly Rock. 

Had Tywin mapped out Tyrion’s future as well, when he was growing in his mother’s womb? Had he planned for his second son to become a knight of the King’s Guard, or perhaps even to follow in his own footsteps as the Hand of a king? Or maybe Tywin had been hoping for another beautiful daughter; someone he could show off and then betroth for political gain. 

Sometimes Tyrion liked to imagine that his mother would have loved him even though he was born a dwarf. If Joanna Lannister had not died birthing him, his father might not even have hated him. He knew Tywin would never have loved him, but it wouldn’t have mattered so much if he’d had a mother who did. 

_Jaime always loved me_ , Tyrion thought, _but does he still_? They had spoken little since Jaime had been brought back to the Red Keep for his trial. Never had they discussed the night Tyrion killed their father. Though Tyrion had little remorse for murdering Tywin, he did regret his lie to Jaime about having killed Joffrey; of course, that was before he had become a kinslayer in truth. 

Tyrion also didn’t rue telling Jaime that Cersei had been fucking their cousin Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack. He knew his words had hurt Jaime, but anything that would help his brother to see Cersei for what she was could only be good. How long had it taken Jaime to believe Cersei had betrayed him and move ahead with his life? Tyrion had gone on with his own life; even the memories of Tysha haunted him less now. Like so much sludge flowing into Blackwater Bay, Tyrion’s past grievances had become diluted by the moving currents of the present. 

He pulled his cloak about him and left the holdfast to the lower bailey and the serpentine steps. Tyrion needed to talk to Jaime this morning, but he wasn't sure where to find him. He assumed he was somewhere with Brienne. Knowing Jaime, he had probably found a way to spend the night with Brienne in the Maidenvault rather than stay in his uncomfortable room in Traitor’s Walk. Tyrion chuckled to think of Jaime and Brienne sneaking around to spend the night together. After so many years of having to sneak around to be with Cersei maybe Jaime was just in the habit of needing to hide his affections. 

Coming upon Brienne and Jaime kissing in front of the Queen’s Ballroom last night had been a fair treat. Tyrion hadn't been kidding when he suggested they get a room; the two of them looked about ready to take each other right there in the corridor. _Cersei’s face – oh, gods!_ Tyrion laughed out loud at the memory as he labored down the serpentine steps. He really didn’t hate Cersei, much as he sometimes wanted to. That didn’t mean seeing her react to Jaime being soundly kissed by another woman wasn't the highlight of his day; it was even better than managing to switch out Cersei’s shampoo with bear grease. 

Tyrion was grinning as he stepped out into the middle bailey. He was buffeted about by the storm, one of the worst seen this far south. He pulled his hood closer to his face to protect himself; the hailstones seemed big as peach pits and just as hard. 

The Maidenvault was closer to him than Traitor’s Walk, so he decided to look for Jaime there first. Ducking inside the ‘Vault, Tyrion first looked around for Jaime’s Dothraki guards. He wasn't surprised not to see them; they had been sent word earlier in the morning that they would no longer need to guard Jaime. Even if they hadn’t heard, if he were here with Brienne they'd hardly give his location away by hanging about. 

Tyrion greeted the woman seated by the door. She was even older than the crone who had been there yesterday when he had come to see Cersei. Elderly women stationed at the doors to the Maidenvault held a purely ornamental position; it gave women like Helyn who could no longer perform maidservant or septa duties something to do. No one cared who came and went in the Maidenvault, except on the rare occasions when it actually held maidens that needed their virtue protected. Tyrion could have told Jaime this, but it was much more fun waiting to see if he would try to sneak in to be with Brienne. 

Tyrion didn’t know which hallway contained Brienne’s chambers, so he chose the one he knew Cersei’s room was in. He quickly found he’d made the correct choice when a door opened down the hall and Brienne come out wearing her armor.  
Strangely, she already had her helm on this morning. Tyrion understood why Cersei wore her helmet back to her room after practice, especially after he saw her rabid raccoon impersonation, but why would Brienne want to wear hers leaving the Vault?

Brienne startled a little to see Tyrion waiting at the end of the hall and reluctantly strode toward him. 

“Well met, Jaime.” Tyrion said smugly. 

“Fuck. How did you know it was me?” Jaime said, stopping in front of him. “You could see that I’m not as tall as Brienne?” 

“Brother, to someone of my stature there are only a few ways I see height: ‘taller than me,’ ‘fucking tall,’ and ‘really fucking tall.’ You and Brienne are both really fucking tall. However, Brienne doesn’t walk like she’s got a reasonably large cock swinging between her legs. You do.” 

Jaime laughed, “Can’t say that occurred to me,” he admitted.

“I never understood,” Tyrion said blandly, “why it is that you swagger like you’ve got such an enormous cock when I am the brother most blessed in that area. But alas, mine just causes me to waddle so that I don’t trip over it. It hardly seems fair.”

“I never thought to see the day you would whine about what the gods endowed you with between your legs. Didn’t you tell me once that they made you short to compensate for that gift?”

“True; I shouldn’t complain.” Tyrion said, smiling impishly up at his brother. “But do tell me: why are you wearing your lady love’s armor?”

Jaime removed the helm and smirked down at Tyrion, “I was hoping to get out of here undetected by the crone at the door. I’m not supposed to be in here, you know.”

“Actually, no one has ever said you couldn’t be in the Maidenvault, Jaime. You just assumed that yourself.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes at Tyrion, “You couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

“You never asked. Also, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing you sneaking around in Lady Brienne’s armor. How was she planning to sneak out later? The woman at the door is old, but she might remember if the same woman left twice without actually coming back in.”

“We were saved from trying to figure that out. It seems the usual crone at the door has developed a taste for Dothraki loving. Apparently they are not called Horse Lords for their influence over their mounts. Well, not their equine mounts, anyway.” Jaime said, “Looks like you have competition for outsized dangly bits, brother.” 

“’Dangly bits, Jaime? Really?” Tyrion laughed. “Think what you will, but I have it on good authority that under scrutiny mine holds up quite well compared to the Dothrakis.”

Jaime laughed with Tyrion. “Did you come looking for me here, little brother? If so, I’m pretty sure it wasn't to discuss cocks. I think you would do better to track Loras down for that particular discussion.”

“Ah, Loras,” Tyrion chuckled, “he does seem to have some expertise, or at least a lot of opinions, on the topic. I was indeed looking for you. Were you heading anywhere in particular? I’d like to talk to you for a while.”

“I was going back to Traitor’s Walk to take off Brienne’s armor for her to pick up later,” Jaime told him, “but if you wait a couple of minutes I’ll go back to her room and take it off .”

“Sure. Why don’t I come along with you? I’m sure the lady would be happy to see me.” Tyrion suggested.

“Funny. Brienne wouldn’t thank me for bringing you in with me.”

“Ah, so she’s not _dressed_ to receive visitors? I’ll just wait out here then,” Tyrion said, “and hope Cersei doesn’t come out in the meantime.” 

Jaime returned to the room and soon came back dressed in breeches, tunic and a jerkin. Tyrion noted that his hair was suspiciously mussed and he had an insufferably smug look on his face.

“Did you tell Brienne what I said?” Tyrion asked.

“About you guessing I wasn't her? Yes. Did I tell her how you guessed? _No_.” Jaime said. “I also told her that you knew we didn’t need to sneak into her room. She says you’re in big trouble.”

“Oh? The lady does like to threaten, doesn’t she?”

“You go ahead and take her lightly, Tyrion. I’m _sure_ she would never do anything bad to you.”

“I like her,” Tyrion told Jaime, “don’t tell her that, of course. Now let’s go before Cersei shows up.”

“Gods, yes. She caught me out here last night in Brienne’s cloak, but she believed I was Brienne. It was… _enlightening_.” 

“Do tell,” Tyrion said, leading them back up the hall.

“She threatened me, er, I mean Brienne; she was drunk but she also sounded more than a little crazy. I don’t think she could actually hurt Brienne, do you?”

“Jaime,” Tyrion said, catching his sleeve to make him stop walking, “I can’t stress this enough, big brother, you need to be _very careful_ about Cersei; she uses different weapons than Brienne does. She is not above trying to kill Brienne somehow.”

“ _Kill her_?” Jaime said, “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” Tyrion said calmly, “I would be dead several times over if she had her way. And I didn’t steal her white knight from her.”

Jaime clenched his jaw and nodded, “I haven’t been her _anything_ in a long time. I’ll be careful. Let’s talk about this more away from her chambers.”

“I agree. I’m famished, so let’s go get something to eat,” Tyrion said and started walking again.

They opened the doors and saw that Helyn was back at her post. She barely batted an eye at seeing the two men. She just hummed a little and seemed to be playing with a small silver bell that looked a lot like the kind Dothraki men wore in their hair. Tyrion decided not to mention that an edge of her skirt was tucked into her smallclothes.

The brothers left the Maidenvault and leaned into the wind blowing across the yard. They entered the building and shook the snow off of themselves before entering the nearly empty dining hall.  The candles in Rufus’ eyes still glowed, and the taxidermied sheep and lizard-dragon were nestled companionably next to each other at the end of their tracks near the ceiling. Several men were over in the far corner exclaiming over the installation of what looked like a very large ceramic dragon egg.

Tyrion led Jaime to a table close to the kitchen. A servant immediately came over to see what Tyrion would like to have prepared. “Crispy bacon, almost black, eggs with some of that fresh goat cheese mixed in, and brown ale,” he said. 

The man trotted back into the kitchen yelling out their order, “It’s for the _Hand_ , you lackwits! Make it quick! No, the _fresh_ goat cheese! How old _is_ that? No, just put it in with the pig lips and lungs for tonight. No, you can leave the green parts on… ” 

“I’m not really the Hand, you know,” Tyrion told Jaime, “but no one seems to know what to call me these days.”

“Is her Grace planning to name you Hand at some point?” Jaime asked.

“She would have liked to, but she wants me in command of the troops along with Ser Barristan. I’m pretty sure one has a chance of living longer fighting the Others than one would after being named Hand,” Tyrion said, reaching for the tankard of ale a servant had just set at his elbow. “Varys has been simpering about, trying to get the position, but none of us trust him as far as we could spit a rat.”

“That's wise,” Jaime said, “he’s wormed his way into every sitting council for years. Does he have any official position now?”

“Dany lets him tell her what news his little birds come across, but she seems only to be waiting for him to take a misstep. She has him watched at all times, and he knows it.”

“And did you advise her not to trust Varys?” Jaime said.

“I told her not to trust anyone,” Tyrion said with a wry grin.

“Except you.” Jaime noted, smiling back.

“Except me. Of course.”

“Someday you’ll tell me how you earned her trust. Also, about everything that happened after I freed you from the dungeons.” Jaime said, taking a sip of his ale.

“Someday. I promise I will, Jaime.” The servant came and set down their food. Tyrion nodded approvingly, “Being in good with the queen does have its advantages,” he said, picking up a piece of bacon just a shade lighter than charcoal and tearing a piece off with his teeth. 

Both men ate in silence for a several minutes, each uncertain how to address what needed to be said. Tyrion washed down a large bite of egg with ale and wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. 

“I want to talk about that night, Jaime,” he said finally, and waited until Jaime met his eyes. The look on his big brother’s face wasn’t especially friendly and he could see that Jaime wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “I had thought I would start by apologizing for killing our father, but I’m still not sorry that I did. I _am_ sorry if it caused you pain.”

Jaime nodded, his eyes never leaving Tyrion’s. He’d waited a long time for his account of that night. 

“Since I was the one who freed you and gave you what seemed reason enough to kill him, I have felt almost like a kinslayer myself,” Jaime said, his green eyes burning with the memory.

“I am sorry if you felt that way. I behaved… _ungratefully_ … to you for saving my life. You should know that finding out the truth about Tysha was only one of my reasons for killing our father,” Tyrion said, “I wanted him dead; but I’m not sure I would have found the courage to do it without your confession about my wife’s true origins.” 

Jaime nodded, his jaw clenched. Tyrion continued, “But I am sorry that I told you I killed your son. I’m not sorry he’s dead, either. The little shit deserved to die thrice over.”

“He wasn’t really my son,” Jaime said, “I mean, he didn’t _feel_ like my son; just a squirt of baby batter that took root in Cersei’s womb. I learned long ago that you weren’t his killer. But Tywin, he was my father, too, and though there was little to love about him I still felt his loss. I think Cersei felt it more, though. Did you know I stood vigil over him in the Sept of Baelor the entire sennight he was there, lying in state? I have never smelled anything as foul as his rotting corpse in my entire life, not even my own hand rotting on a rope. There were times I wanted to shove a lit candle up my nose to cauterize it so I could never smell anything again.”

“I had not heard about the smell,” Tyrion said, “did they not prepare him properly?”  
  
“The septas swore they did. I think someone must have tampered with his corpse. I’ve wondered about that for a long time. Maybe someone stuck a dead animal where his organs used to be and stitched him up again.”

“Or maybe he was just as big a stinker in death as he was in life.” Tyrion said, mock seriously, “The gods know he didn’t smell real pretty when I shot him in the privy. He did not, in fact, shit gold.” 

Jaime couldn’t help laughing at Tyrion’s expression. “Dear old dad,” he sighed, “Do you know, he smiled more in death than he ever did in life? As he shriveled there in the Sept I could swear his grin grew wider every day. It was as though he was pleased with the stink he was making.”

“He probably was.” Tyrion said, “I always thought he looked like he was holding a small turd in his mouth that he was trying to keep from dissolving. I don’t think the man ever smiled kindly at me.”

“I know,” Jaime said simply, “he was nearly as cold as a White Walker. They don’t smile either.” Jaime laid his left hand on Tyrion’s arm, “I am sorry about Tysha, Tyrion. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, Jaime. I’ve had a long time to think about it. I’ve also managed to grow up a little and I've had a real lover or two that didn’t want me just for my coin.”

"Or your monstrously large cock?" Jaime said with a raised brow.

"I can't swear to that," Tyrion said, "but still..."

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jaime said, withdrawing his hand so he could lift his tankard for a drink. “Anyone sharing your bed now? Girl? Boy? Barnyard animal?”

“Maybe,” Tyrion said, with a pleased smirk, “a _girl,_ but that’s a secret I’ll keep for the moment. I want to talk to you about the woman sharing _your_ bed.” Tyrion could see Jaime struggle to suppress his smile and then give in and let his happiness show, his toothy smile and deep dimples no doubt drawing the eyes of every fertile woman in the room. He could have sworn his brother even blushed. Remarkable, really. “I asked Lady Brienne about her intentions toward you when I saw her last night.”

“ _You what_?” Jaime laughed, “She didn’t tell me that.”

“There she was, wearing your Lannister red cloak, obviously going to meet you and spend the night with you. It seemed the thing to do.”

“It is well known that we sleep together,” Jaime said evasively.

“Uh huh, I’ve heard the songs and the rumors, and if seeing the two of you trying to devour each other in front of the ballroom last night wasn't enough, watching your face as she wriggled in your lap last night...”

“Right,” Jaime cut him off hastily, “what did you want to say to me about her, Tyrion?”

“Where do I start? I haven’t had a chance to watch the two of you much, but I can see that you’re in love with the woman.”

“I am.” Jaime admitted. “I’m not just ‘in love,’ Tyrion. I love her and have for a very long time now.”

“So, when is she going to make an honest man of you, Jaime?”

Jaime choked on the ale he had just taken a drink of, “You rotten little imp” he said through his sputtering laughter "what did she say her intentions were when you asked her?”

“She didn’t. She blushed until her freckles looked fit to leap off of her face, but I couldn’t goad her into talking about the two of you.”

“That’s my wench,” Jaime grinned.

“So I am asking you, but not just because I want to pry.”

“I _know_ you want to pry.”

“So true,” Tyrion admitted, “but there is a little more to it, Jaime. Daenerys has taken an interest in your relationship with Brienne. I’m afraid that even while she finds it all terribly romantic she also thinks she can use it to her advantage.”

The blood drained from Jaime’s face as he stared fiercely at Tyrion. “What the hells does that mean? What more does the queen want of me?”

“It’s not you she wants something of,” Tyrion told him, “It’s Brienne. Daenerys has something she wants Brienne to do, and if Brienne refuses Dany is likely to make things difficult for both of you.”

Jaime’s hand came up and tugged at his hair, “Fuck. Brienne isn’t political, you know. Why drag her into this? What does the little Targaryen tart mean to do?”

“ _Her Grace_ , you mean.” Tyrion told him coldly, “She is your queen, and she did spare your life. Do you have any idea how close she was to sticking your head on a spike?”

Jaime sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Tyrion knew when Jaime was set on being stubborn. He needed to tread lightly here.

“Jaime, I want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy, I really do. I got to know Brienne a little when you were locked up in the dungeon. Of course, at the time she was so sick with worry about you that I could barely pull two words out of her. I wondered how such a perfectly dour creature could be the woman they said had won your heart. But honestly, Jaime, seeing the way that woman smiles, the light in her eyes since you were released, is most enlightening. She’s like a different girl altogether. But then, seeing you with her is just as revealing," Tyrion said.

“Oh? Do tell.” Jaime said. Tyrion could tell he was pleased but trying not to let it show. 

“Well,” Tyrion said, “for one thing, I’ve seen you in love before and this time you look far less furtive -”

“If you’re going to be a turd… ”

“I know, I know, _go lie in the yard_. You and Cersei need to get a new line,” Tyrion said dismissively, “I was just kidding; I shouldn’t make those comparisons. What I wanted to say is that over the years I’ve seen you carry a lot of weight on your shoulders, exacerbated by that rather large chip that you’ve been carrying since you slew Aerys Targaryen – and thank you for saving everyone from certain death, by the way – but even though I know life is no easier now, you carry yourself more lightly. You’re still my snarky big brother, but seeing you with Brienne, there’s a contentment about you I’ve never seen before.” Jaime just nodded, accepting what Tyrion said.

“I swore to Dany I wouldn’t tell you what she wants of Brienne yet. But if Brienne agrees to it, Daenerys is prepared to let you two stay together for a while, at least until she needs Brienne for something else later on. She might even grant you a small command, though that is yet to be seen. I’ve already convinced her that you no longer need to be guarded. But if the two of you thwart her, she will put you in separate units or even hold Brienne back and send her with the next wave of fighters.”

“She has no say over what Brienne does in battle,” Jaime said through his teeth, “she is a _volunteer_. Brienne has not sworn fealty to anyone.”

“I know you’re not that naïve, Jaime. If her Grace wants to separate you, she will. She could even send Brienne back to Tarth.”

“Not if I marry her, she can’t!” Jaime protested.

“She is the _queen_ , Jaime! You know better than most that kings and queens do whatever they want.” Tyrion said, then grinned at his brother, “ _Are_ you planning to marry her?”

“If she’ll have me. I don't have a lot to offer, with no lands and being so much older than her. And this,” he said, raising his stump, "there are younger, un-maimed knights with more to offer the Lady of Tarth," Jaime said quietly, “but, yes, I had hoped to ask her soon.”

“False modesty doesn't become you, Jaime; you cannot think she cares about land. As for your maiming, did she fall in love with you while you still had both hands?"

"I was actually quite an ass to her when we first met. I was her captive, as you know."

"So you're saying the two of you bonded over bondage? I never knew you were the type."

"Mind out of the moat for a change, Tyrion." Jaime chuckled, "I don't know when she started to even tolerate me. I wasn't an especially lovable person, and she knew about Cersei, and our bastards. Not exactly a recommendation, you know."

"You’d think not," Tyrion grimaced. "But you are planning to ask her, and that is happy news,” he said, “may I ask why you haven’t married her before now?”

Jaime hesitated before speaking haltingly, “Despite the rumors, we have only very recently… that is to say, we… Tyrion, the time just hasn’t been right! We've been cheating death night after night for so long, just grateful for each new day we live to see. Being here in the Keep, it’s the first time we’ve really had the chance… to… I’ve only just started really _courting_ her, Tyr. The feelings have been there a long time, but… ”

Tyrion bit his lip, enjoying seeing Jaime’s discomfiture. “So, it was okay for her to be the Kingslayer’s Whore, but now you want to do things right?” he asked.

“She was never my whore!” Jaime said hotly.

“No, what do you call it then?” Tyrion asked. “Don’t tell me that the woman you have loved for so long and slept next to every night is still a maid.”

“I don’t know.” Jaime said quietly.

“ _You don’t know_?” Tyrion said incredulously.

“I _think_ she is,” Jaime said, reddening, “but we were apart for several months after she left the Red Keep to go after your missing wife. I only know that she prefers not to be called ‘the Maid of Tarth’ anymore.”

“Did you ever think she might have abandoned the title to take a little pressure off of _you_ , Jaime? Maybe she didn’t want to make an issue of being a maid once she decided she wanted to be with you. You can’t tell me the two of you haven’t touched each other. What I saw the other night was not a first kiss, or even a fiftieth,” 

“I really don’t want to discuss my sex life with my little brother,” Jaime said firmly.

Tyrion laughed at Jaime outright, not at all respecting his desire not to talk about it. “When you were fucking Cersei I don’t recall you being especially shy about it around me,” Tyrion said, “I seem to recall you being unable to stay away from her. That was what led to you pushing the Stark boy out that window and subsequently getting me captured by Catelyn Stark.”

“I know what I did,” Jaime growled, “it wasn't the first or last stupid thing I did for Cersei, just the most heinous.”

“How long did it take you to believe me about Lancel and Kettleblack?” Tyrion asked curiously.

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Jaime said drily, “I didn’t believe you at first. Lancel? That sniveling little twerp? But he told me himself what he’d done. The rest became obvious soon enough. Understand this, though: what I have with Brienne is not anything like what it was with Cersei.”

“So you _don’t_ want to fuck Brienne, then?”

“That isn’t what I meant. Gods, you’re obnoxious.”

“So you say. I will admit to being the most obnoxious dwarf in the world if you will tell me how you intend to go about getting betrothed to Brienne. Have you gotten her father’s permission yet?”

“No. Do you suppose I should? Of course I should; stupid of me. We’ve been together so long I forget there is anyone else with a say in it. If she says ‘yes’ I don’t care whether her father approves or not.”

“ _She_ might care,” pointed out Tyrion, “You could try to get a bird to him on Tarth. You might want to send several with this weather.”

“I suppose I should. She has also said she won’t marry a man who can’t best her with a sword. It seems a strange thing given all the times we’ve saved each other’s lives, and how we spar together like we were born to it. Still, I want to give her a good fight. She’s romantic that way.”

“Sounds like it,” Tyrion laughed.

“My Wench,” Jaime said proudly, “is one of a kind.”

“Were you hoping to marry her before you go back to the Wall?”

“We were fighting a little south of the Wall, but yes, I did hope we might marry before that. I don’t know where, though. Not in the Royal Sept, for sure.”

“Why not the Royal Sept?” Tyrion asked.

“Um, bad memories of standing vigil over Joffrey,” Jaime told him, “and not in the Sept of Baelor, either. I can’t even think of that place without the memory of father’s stink making me gag.”

“You want to marry soon, though. I think even Dany would be inclined to let you two stay together as much and as long as possible, if Brienne does what is asked of her.”

“This thing Dany wants, is it dangerous?”

“It is, but not much more dangerous than battling the Others with flame and swords.”

“How reassuring.”

“It’s all I’ve got,” Tyrion apologized, “but at least the queen listens to my council. I will do what I can for you and Brienne. If you do marry her you are going to have watch Cersei even more carefully.”

“When she mistook me for Brienne last night she said she was planning to get me back in her bed,” Jaime said.

“Now that _is_ scary,” Tyrion said, “it might be a good idea to move you and Brienne out of the Maidenvault.”

“We slept together in Traitor’s Walk once. I’d rather take my chances with Cersei than try that again. We ‘really fucking tall’ people need a little more space."

“Let me see what I can do for you,” Tyrion said.

They had finished eating and Tyrion called for wine. Talk turned to more general topics and eventually Tyrion told Jaime stories of his travels after his escape, and Jaime told Tyrion about the Bloody Mummers, Lady Stoneheart and fighting the Others. As the wine and conversation flowed the brothers found the tension between them melting away. Tyrion hadn't realized just how much he had missed being close to his big brother. When they finally parted Jaime crouched down and kissed his brother on the cheek, just as he had done long ago in the dungeon, the night he’d rescued him. This time, Tyrion hugged him rather than back-handing him. They both felt it was an improvement.

“Are your quarters in the holdfast if I want to find you?” Jaime asked.

“They are, but you’ll seldom find me there. I am often advising the queen, so you can send word through a servant to her people if you need me.”

“I’ll do that.” Jaime told him. “When is the queen planning to talk with Brienne?”

“She might have sent for her while we were here,” Tyrion said.

“Oh,” Jaime said, “I think I’ll go find her, then. We had hoped to spar a little today, but it’s a little late and I’m a little drunk.”

“Perfect time to spar, I should think,” Tyrion said with a wink. Jaime laughed, nodding in agreement. They said their goodbyes, Jaime turning to go to the tower in Traitor’s Walk to retrieve his clothes and new sword, Tyrion to go sit in on another war council.

Much later that night, Tyrion yawned and got up from the sumptuously upholstered chair in Queen Daenerys’ private chambers. The chair itself was a little smaller than one might expect for one of such expensive craftsmanship, but not so short that it appeared to be a child’s chair. A sturdy carved step specially made to slide beneath the chair on an unobtrusive hinge was accessed by a small lever just below the armrest. This step made the chair perfect for Tyrion; it was easy to sit upon without crawling up it like a child, and enabled him to leave his seat without having to make an undignified leap to the floor. 

The minute Tyrion stepped away, Daenerys’ fat tabby, Maumau, leapt up onto the seat, flicking her short tail in annoyance before settling herself into the warm spot where Tyrion’s rump had been. She looked up at Tyrion with her gooseberry green eyes, waiting for their ritual: Tyrion blinked slowly at the cat and glanced away, and the cat did the same before settling her head on the soft red cushions of the chair and going to sleep.

Tyrion sighed, knowing he would not be getting his chair back without a great deal of effort, and went to pour cups of _lamekh ohazho_ for himself and the queen. Daenerys was very fond of drinking a little fermented mare’s milk before bed. He often drank it with her, even though he found the alcohol content disappointingly low and the sour taste of it less than appealing. Tyrion had begun to refer to it in his mind as “Lam-ick.” 

It made her Grace happy, though, and keeping her happy was something Tyrion was diligent about. 

He carried the cup over to Dany, who was reclining on her bed, a blanket quilted with pockets of ice goose feathers draped over her. She sat up to accept the cup from Tyrion, letting the blanket slip down to expose her breasts. Tyrion noted that her nipples quickly pebbled in the air, but tried not to stare too hard. The double step she kept for him under her enormous bed was already pulled out and Tyrion climbed it to sit on the bed with her. He would have loved to lean over and nuzzle one of those little pink buds. Even in his peripheral vision they were distracting him so much he almost forgot to suppress his gag reflex as he sipped at his Lam-ick.

Dany smiled into her cup, enjoying torturing the dwarf. When she had drained about half of her cup she set it on the side table and leaned back against her pillows. Tyrion watched her with a small smile as she licked the tip of her finger and then ran it over an erect nipple, looking at him all the while. His cock was rigid against his stomach, but he made no move to touch himself or the queen. 

This was their game, and they had their rules. Daenerys spread her legs under the covers, and lowered her hand to touch herself. Tyrion could see the outline of her hand as she ever so slowly rubbed her cunt. He knew what the blanket hid, and while he sometimes resented the way she teased him, he realized that the game benefitted him as well. The slow build-up of tension after so many years of instant gratification from whores was a novelty he had come to appreciate.

His cock had become so hard that it practically ached, making him was glad it wasn't constrained by his clothes. While his breeches were cut to fit his short stature, and were normally roomy enough for his cock when it was soft, getting aroused while dressed was especially uncomfortable for him. 

Daenerys moaned low in her throat and Tyrion took a deep breath. He could almost taste the anticipation, which had a far better flavor than the mare’s milk. 

“Tyr,” Dany purred, her lilac eyes raking over his naked cock. 

It was time; Tyrion pulled the covers off of her legs and she withdrew her hand. Aside from a small strip of fine silver hair she was clean-shaven in the Braavosi style. Tyrion reached out a thick finger and ran it down her hairless slit to her core before dipping two fingers inside of her. She lifted her hips a little as he curled them inside, making her gasp. Daenerys had a sweet voice, and when she was excited it had a girlish, breathless quality to it. 

Tyrion moved his fingers inside of her until she was writhing and then lowered his face to the swollen floret she had been rubbing before. His lips latched on to it and he sucked as his fingers continued to thrust and curl inside of her. It took very little time for his queen to cry out and start to thrust herself against his lips and fingers. Tyrion kept right on suckling and finger fucking her slowly until long after she stopped shuddering with her release. Then he rested his palms on either side of her waist, positioned his long, thick cock at her entrance and began to tease her with just the wide head of it. He lowered his mouth to her full breasts and began rolling one of her nipples between his lips and flicking his tongue over it. 

Tyrion was waiting again, but this time he was in control. When Dany began to whimper a little he judged he had teased her long enough. He simultaneously thrust his cock hard into her wet heat and bit down on her nipple, the sensation making her arch into him with a loud cry. He released her breast and concentrated on filling her with his cock again and again, holding onto her hips hard to give him the leverage to pull it out several inches before slamming it back in again. He needed to control himself and let his lover peak first, something he had rarely thought to do back when he was only fucking whores. He watched Daenerys’ sweet face as she arched her back and bucked against him, then allowed himself to climax with a final deep thrust that made them both cry out.

Afterwards, they lay sprawled on the royal bed, only their fingers touching. Tyrion watched as Daenerys closed her eyes and smiled. He knew few people had been allowed to see this side of the new queen. What had started out as a curious friendship between them many months before had become something far more intimate as Dany had come to trust the dwarf and enjoy his dark humor. Being hung like a Dothraki didn’t hurt, of course. Tyrion had come to know the young woman Dany was behind the face she turned to world. Behind the sometimes frivolous fancies she was prone to, there was steel in her will that he respected, and she only sometimes let the fact that Tyrion was her lover as well as her advisor sway her. 

With a little sigh she pulled the quilted cover up over them and snuggled up close to Tyrion. It had been a long while since he had slept anywhere but the queen’s chambers. Very few people knew that Tyrion was serving the queen in so many ways. Those that did knew enough to keep the secret for them.

Maumau leapt onto the bed and settled on Tyrion’s chest. “Mit-row?” she asked, and he laid his hand over her broad, furry back and slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed learning so much about Tyrion! If it wasn't canon before just pretend it is now. When he is described as having a waddle _so many times_ in the book now you know why.
> 
> I am ever so grateful for your comments, good readers, and I always reply eventually! So if you would start 2014 out right for me by leaving some I would be sooo happy. Happy enough to cut the green parts off your goat cheese before serving it up with your Westerosi-style Haggis.
> 
> I know some of you are confused about a possible Tyrion/Dany ship. I don't know how it will pan out, but right now it's not set to become a major part of anything. It's possible that MauMau is really Tyrion's best chance of a serious ship. But really, we'll have to wait and see.


	18. Brienne, Dany's request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you grow up with horses, my lady?” Dany asked.
> 
> “I did. My lord father gave me my first horse, Skybiscuit, before I could walk. His offspring are quite sought after on Tarth.”
> 
> “Your father gave a baby a stallion?”
> 
> “Yes, your Grace, though he made sure a servant rode along with me all the time until I was at least five.”
> 
>  
> 
> _In which we find out what dangerous thing Queen Daenerys wants Brienne to do for her._

After Agnes had curtseyed her way out of their room, Jaime sat back down on the bed and leaned over to kiss Brienne.

“So why didn’t you mention this baby of ours hidden away at Winterfell?” he asked, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.  
  
“Hmm,” she said, reaching up to untuck the strand of hair, “maybe because I wasn't sure it was yours.”

“That’s not especially funny, Wench,” Jaime said with a lifted brow. Brienne could tell he was trying to keep his tone light, but the thought obviously bothered him. 

“Maybe I wasn't sure it was mine?” she tried, reaching up to pull him down for a longer kiss. 

Jaime let himself be led to her lips, but once there he took charge, kissing her fiercely, possessively. His lips burned over hers and she felt herself responding to him, her whole body yearning to feel him the way her lips were. When he moved his mouth to her throat she couldn’t suppress a sigh as she arched into him. Jaime tugged the blanket off so that he could access even more of her skin and she shivered as his breath warmed her neck and shoulder. 

Brienne imagined being with him like this in their bedroll when they were encamped in the cold north. Gods, she had yearned for him for so long. Now, unbelievably, she had him. 

Jaime was kissing and nibbling his way down the inside of her arm, pausing at the pulse point in her wrist, warming it with his tongue and drawing her racing blood to him when he closed his lips on it. Brienne felt the same throbbing pulse echoing at her core, making her want him there, so ready to take him inside now. 

“My love,” Jaime growled, and Brienne noticed how his breath labored, how flushed his face and chest were. He closed his eyes, and Brienne knew he was trying to get control of himself, was trying not to give in to what they both wanted.

“If I don’t stop now, I never will,” he said, his voice so deeply masculine and needful that Brienne wanted to wrestle him onto his back and _take_ him…  
  
Jaime sighed and settled next to her, “Wench,” He started to say, but then paused and grinned at her, “Bear-enne, much as I want to stay here all day and be tortured by you, I should go. I need to sneak out and find Lavakhat, and Hemikh, if he isn’t otherwise engaged. Help me on with your armor?”

“Bearenne,” she tried it out, “well, it has a better sound to it than some of the pet names you’ve come up with. Shall we see how my armor fits you?”

They got off the bed and walked over to the piled armor and Brienne’s sweat stained gambeson. She helped Jaime get the padded garment over his head and then set about helping him get the rest of her gear on. She started by fastening the wide leather belt around his waist, leaning in close to pull the straps tight.

Jaime was grinning at her, his eyes mischievous. 

“ _What_?” Brienne said in exasperation.

“I was just thinking how much I like having a naked wench as a squire.”

“Don’t get used to it, Lannister.”

“Maybe I could return the favor sometime?”

“Maybe,” she grinned, picking up one poleyn and setting it over his right thigh. As she tried to strap it on Jaime reached out and cupped one of her breasts, brushing his thumb over her nipple. 

“Okay, either keep your paw to yourself or get armored without my help.” Brienne said shortly.

“You’d do that to me?” Jaime said, biting his lip and looking appealingly at her.

“Hells, yes,” she said, “now stand up straight and stop staring, too.”

Eventually Brienne managed to get all of the pieces of her armor strapped on to Jaime and stood back to admire him. She cocked her head to one side and smiled.

“You’ll do.” She pronounced and handed him the helm. “Meet you later, maybe in the yard?”

“As you wish, my Lady.” Jaime bowed to her and then put the helm on, shifting it from side to side to make it fit comfortably. Wearing someone else’s body armor was one thing, but the padding in a helm could be very individual for each fighter. 

Brienne locked the door after Jaime left. She retrieved her nightgown from the floor, put it back on and then gave a mighty stretch. She looked around the room, smiling to herself. When she’d first come to this room, weary with grief and worn from the road, she had only dared to hope she would have a chance to sleep next to Jaime again, to feel him warm and alive at her side. She never would have imagined that Jaime would tell her he loved her in this room. 

Brienne went over and picked up the rose Jaime had given her and looked at the singed petals. She held it against her chest and then spun around in a little circle, her gown flaring out around her legs. She seldom allowed herself to be giddy and girlish like this, but she was just so _happy_. 

Her knight loved her, really loved her. There was danger for them on the horizon, but at this moment she just wanted to savor how she felt, remember how he felt against her. 

She dropped onto the bed on her back, still holding the rose.

There was a loud knock at the door.

Brienne quickly tucked the rose under a pillow and wished she had a robe to throw over herself. She went to the door and called out, “Who is it?”

She heard Jaime reply, “Just me, sweetling.”  

She quickly unlocked the door and held it open for him. He had taken the helm off and gave her one of his delicious smiles, all teeth and dimples and shining green eyes. It didn’t matter that she had just seen him; he had the power to turn her legs to water with that look. 

“Is something wrong?” Brienne asked, closing the door behind him. He set the helm down on the bed and then pulled her head down for a quick kiss. 

“No, I ran into Tyrion in the hall and he wants to talk to me. He knew right away I wasn't you.”

“Oh, how did he know?” Brienne asked curiously.

“Well, you know, I guess as my brother he knows me when he sees me.” Jaime said with a little smile. “Also, he tells me there was no need to be sneaking around in the first place. It seems anyone can come and go in the Maidenvault.”

“What? Why didn’t he tell us that before?”

“Apparently, we never asked.” Jaime said, “But I’m pretty certain he was aware that we didn’t know and found it greatly amusing.”

“All of those stories you’ve told me about him? I always assumed you were exaggerating.” Brienne said.

“No, afraid not. He _earned_ his nickname. He really is an imp.” 

“You realize, of course, that I will need to punish him for getting us again?”

“I’ll let him know.” Jaime grinned. “Now, a little help?” he said, starting to work the straps on the breastplate. Brienne helped him disarm, which was accomplished much more quickly than putting the armor on had been.  
  
When it was all piled neatly on the floor again Jaime shrugged into his tunic and jerkin and brushed his hair. He stepped in close to Brienne and maneuvered her toward the bed until he had the backs of her knees up against the mattress. He lowered her to the bed and leaned on top of her, kissing her breathless. 

“Say it again, Bearenne,” he said, pressing his nose to hers.

“Say… ? Oh! I love you, Jaime.” Brienne said, and reached up to ruffle his neatly brushed hair. 

“I like the sound of that. I love you, too.” He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and he pulled her up as well. “I don’t know when I’ll be done. Meet you back here later if I don’t see you in the yard?”

“Yes.”

Jaime brushed his lips against hers again and left the room. It was past time to get dressed herself. If she was lucky she might be able to get a little bit of sparring practice in. She could arm up here since Jaime had brought her gear back. 

Brienne was just looking through the chest of drawers for something old to wear under her gambeson when there was another knock on the door. She picked up the gambeson and held it against her thin nightgown to open the door.

A young man in the queen’s livery stood on the other side of the door.

“Lady Brienne?” he asked.

Brienne nodded.

“My Lady, the queen sent me to ask that you attend her today on a ride. You are to meet her at the main stable in half an hour. Your horse will be saddled and waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Brienne said in surprise. “Of course. Do tell her Grace that I will meet her there.”

The man bowed and turned smartly away as Brienne closed the door. 

What could she want? Even though Brienne was often included in the queen’s strategy councils they had rarely exchanged more than pleasantries upon meeting. The queen sometimes looked at her rather intensely, but Brienne assumed that she, like most people, couldn’t help but stare at the scar on her cheek and her over-all unattractiveness. She sighed, the secure, loved feeling Jaime had left her with abruptly vanishing.

She went back to the chest of drawers, this time looking for something finer to wear riding with the ruler of the seven kingdoms. Brienne chose another of the items she had commissioned from the seamstress, pulling a thick, soft tunic out of the drawer. The wool had been dyed a rich lapis blue at the top and gradated into a deep purple at the bottom. Brienne rubbed it against her face, breathing in the lavender from the little sachet the seamstress had packed it with. 

She had never taken pleasure in her clothes when she was younger, but now that she had a few items that suited her she was surprised by how much she enjoyed them. Brienne pulled the tunic over her head and chose a black, short-sleeved leather jerkin to wear over it. She chose close-fitted woolen leggings and stockings for her feet, followed by black lambskin breeches. 

It would be cold riding in this storm; she wondered if the queen would dress sensibly for once. 

Brienne took up her brush and ran it through her hair until it shone; she really must get some of that sweet-smelling shampoo to take on the road with her, she thought. She quickly braided the sides of her hair into a single plait that lay atop the rest of her unbound hair streaming down her back. She used a small wet cloth to scrub at her teeth until they felt clean.

Satisfied that she looked as well as she could, she put on her boots and cloak and strapped her sword belt with Oathkeeper around her waist and hips. Briefly wishing she had time to eat something, she looked around the room to see if she was forgetting anything. Remembering the rose, she retrieved it from beneath the pillow on the bed. Chiding herself for being a romantic fool, she tucked it down into her boot top, making sure it was well hidden. 

She left her room, relieved to see that Cersei wasn't in the hall; she had probably had to arm up and be at the practice field hours ago. Brienne made a stop at the privy closet, cursing at the difficulty of arranging her cloak and sword in the small space. Better that than armor, though.

She saw that Helyn was sitting at the door tinkling a small bell next to her ear. Surely Hemikh hadn’t surrendered one of his bells? If the Dothraki warriors gave up a bell for everyone they bedded it would be a wonder if they had any left. Maybe they kept extra bells for such occasions, but Brienne doubted it. Still, some enterprising merchant could start a thriving business in “I Fucked a Horse Lord” souvenirs. _Mind_ _out of the moat,_ she reminded herself, nodding to the old woman as she turned for the door leading into the yard. 

She wondered how long it would be until someone had the courage to tell Helyn that her skirt was tucked into her smallclothes.

Outside, the hail had become no more than pea-sized pellets piling up atop the mounds of snow and pinging against the sides of the buildings. The icy wind blew steadily south. Brienne tugged her hood down and made her way to the stables, briefly wondering how someone of Tyrion’s height had waded through such an accumulation of snow. 

Tyrion. What to do with Jaime’s pesky little brother? Brienne wondered if he was afraid of anything. Did he dislike spiders as much as Jaime did? How about small vermin with sharp teeth? Large, growling bipeds?

As she approached the stables she could see a Dothraki warrior with a long braid and a surprisingly furry cloak holding Sean’s reins. Daenerys was standing with Ser Barristan next to her smaller mare. Barristan’s huge dappled destrier was pawing at the ground, snorting white mist from his nostrils, his ears laid back against his broad neck. Sean looked disdainfully at the showy horse for such an ostentatious display before catching Brienne’s scent and turning to nicker at her. 

She was grinning as she walked up to the small party, remembering to give a little modified curtsey before hugging her horse.

Daenerys was looking at her curiously when she turned from Sean. Sean nudged Brienne on the shoulder with his strong forehead and she widened her stance to keep from being bowled over by him.

“Your Grace,” Brienne greeted the queen, who for once was swathed in layers of warm clothing. Her red cloak was a wondrous thing of soft rabbit fur with rubies and black onyx chasing each other in a spiral pattern across the back.

“Lady Brienne,” Daenerys said, “your horse seems much attached to you.”

“Yes, your Grace, he is. We have been through a lot together.”

“Did you grow up with horses, my lady?” Dany asked.

“I did. My lord father gave me my first horse, Skybiscuit, before I could walk. His offspring are quite sought after on Tarth.”

“Your father gave a baby a _stallion_?”

“Yes, your Grace, though he made sure a servant rode along with me all the time until I was at least five.”

Dany laughed, “I imagine that kind of upbringing would have helped me when I became a Khaleesi. Even Dothraki children start out on gentler steeds than service stallions.”

“In retrospect, it does seem a little reckless, but I have always had a special rapport with animals. Biscuit never would willingly let anyone but me ride him.”

Daenerys looked at Barristan and raised her eyebrows, smiling. Barristan nodded shortly to her and then regarded Brienne somberly, “Shall we ride then?” he said.

“Yes,” said the queen, “it doesn’t look like the storm is going to get weaker, so we may as well go before we lose the little light that we have.”

Mounting her own horse first, Daenerys moved out to the front of their small group. Barristan on his dapple, Brienne on her brown and the Dothraki on his sturdy little bay followed. 

Brienne turned to the Dothraki and greeted him in his native tongue. His fierce, scarred face lit with a smile as he returned the greeting and introduced himself as Ashefa.  
  
“I’m Brienne,” she said, reaching back to clasp forearms with him.  
He nodded, “ _Nesat_ ,” he told her. Brienne wondered at how they all seemed to know her, or at least of her.

Brienne hoped the queen would get to the reason for their ride soon. It looked like they might be heading into King’s Landing as she was headed out of the yard.

The snow and hail crunched beneath the horse’s hooves as they carefully picked their way down Aegon's high hill. The wind was blowing too fiercely for conversation until they reached the bottom of the hill. To Brienne’s surprise, Daenerys turned her horse to the right and headed for the walls of the city. 

She led them along the street closest to the walls, nodding to the small folk pausing in their work to kneel in the snow as they realized the queen was passing by. 

They passed the Iron Gate without using it to exit the city and Brienne began to get a sense of where they were going. A shiver of anxiety and excitement ran through her.  
  
“Your Grace,” she called over the wind, “are we going to see the dragons?”

Dany twisted around on her horse to smile at her, “We are, Lady Brienne. I hope you are not afraid of being close to them?”

Brienne returned the smile, “I’ve always wanted to see them. I hear they are even more beautiful than the paintings of them.”

“They are,” the queen confirmed with a mother’s pride.  
  
Brienne could see Rhaenys’ hill looming ahead, and the ruins of the dragonpit beyond that. She knew the burned and collapsed ruin had been partially rebuilt when Daenerys took back the Iron Throne for the Targaryens. The huge building had once held nearly a score of dragons, but Brienne could see that only a small portion of it had been reconstructed to house the only three dragons known to exist.

They passed the Dragon Gate and rode around the building to a lower, smaller structure with an attached stable that had been added recently to the portion meant to house the dragons. There was also a covered pen housing scores of bleating sheep for feeding the dragons. 

Even before they got close to the building Brienne could smell the peculiar musty reptile smell of the beasts, much like the lizards she had seen once when someone from Braavos had visited her father, trying to sell him oddities and trinkets from the free cities. 

The queen led them around to the stables, and Brienne could feel Sean’s skin twitching with nerves beneath her. She patted his shoulder and leaned close to his ear to murmur encouragement to him. His ears twisted back to listen to her, but she could tell by his swishing tail he was on edge. 

A squat, muscular, Dothraki woman came out of the stables to help with their horses. She wore a warm-looking tunic beneath her horsehair vest, and her gray hair was bound in a thick knot at the back of her head.  
The queen dismounted first and then Barristan, Brienne, and Ashefa swung off of their horses. 

“Kristasof,” Ashefa greeted the woman, bending his hulking frame over to hug her. She patted his cheek fondly. They led the horses into the stable, both talking at once.

Brienne turned to see Daenerys watching them with a little smile, “His grandmother,” she told Brienne.

She led them into the building, which proved to be quite warm and opulent, its walls covered with tapestries, and rugs generously scattered over the wood floor.

“Shall we go meet the dragons?” Daenerys said to Brienne.

“Of course, your Grace,” Brienne said, inclining her head.

“You may call me Dany or Daenerys when we’re in a private space like this, Brienne.”

“Thank you, your… Dany.” Brienne said, suddenly feeling anything but reassured by the familiarity. She still didn’t know why the queen had summoned her, but one glance at Ser Barristan told her she was soon to find out.  

“We’ll return soon,” Dany told Ser Barristan, who sank into one of the upholstered chairs near the roaring hearth. Brienne wondered why he wasn't coming with them, and then thought to wonder why Ser Jorah hadn’t been included in the group at all. She wasn't sure she had ever seen the queen without him nearby.

Daenerys led Brienne to the rear of the building, where an iron-reinforced door led into a large covered run that ran the length of the three pens housing the dragons. Brienne immediately noticed the blood splashes on the dirt and on the metal fences surrounding the pens.

“Sheep’s blood,” Daenerys said, seeing Brienne’s widened eyes dart from the blood to the dragons.

“That’s… reassuring,” Brienne said in a low voice, finding her eyes suddenly riveted to the dragons themselves. 

“These here,” Dany said, trying to draw Brienne’s attention to a series of metal panels standing about ten feet apart all along the row, “are proof against fire, in case any of them decide to torch us.”

“And… how would we know? Would there be some warning?” Brienne said, mesmerized by the beasts before her, but glancing quickly at the panels to familiarize herself with their location.

“You have to be alert for it, but I have found they make a raspy sound just before they ignite their flame sacs. One comes to have a very keen ear for it after a while.”

“Oh,” Brienne managed. 

She saw the largest dragon, black Drogon, looking down at them curiously. She shifted her gaze to the green dragon, Rhaegal, noting his cold bronze eyes watching her, making her feel so much like prey she worried that she'd bleat if she tried to talk. 

When her eyes came to Viserion, her breath caught in her throat at his beauty. His cream colored scales gleamed like opals in the light filtering through the high glass ceiling, and his molten gold eyes echoed the color of his horns and the crest along his neck and back. His pupils, at first just thin slits like a cat’s, began to widen as he looked at Brienne. She wondered if he liked what he saw; did she resemble a sheep to him as well? 

Viserion stretched his neck to bring his head closer to the bars of the fence and Brienne. She held very still, just as she would upon meeting a skittish horse. After this, she thought, being in a pit with a bear would seem like nothing at all. Still, she wished Jaime were here, if only to look upon this magnificent creature with her.

Daenerys was watching her reaction closely, but when she saw Viserion showing an obvious interest in Brienne she began to watch the dragon intently as well.

“Would you like to touch him?” she said quietly to Brienne, keeping her eyes on Viserion, noting his widening pupils and the way his nostrils twitched with the scent of this new human in his midst.

Tearing her gaze from the dragon Brienne looked at the queen questioningly.  Was she serious? What did one do to make friends with a dragon? Not offer them a carrot, surely. A leg of lamb, perhaps?

“Let him sniff your hand, just as you would a dog or a horse,” she suggested. 

Brienne took cautious steps forward holding out her hand, palm down. When she was almost to the fence Viserion pushed his narrow snout through the bars and snuffled at it. Brienne let him sniff and began to talk to him in a sing-song voice, telling him what a good, sweet, precious dragon he was. She turned her hand over and let him sniff her palm before she lifted her hand to pet his nose. 

The dragon was warmer than she had expected him to be. She remembered that lizards had cold skin and needed heat in order to move and thrive. Dragons, with their own source of heat, must have warmer blood. 

Viserion’s scales were slightly rough but leathery, much like the carapace of the softshelled turtles common to the interior waters of Tarth. Brienne watched his golden eyes as she scratched along the ridge above his nostrils and saw when he blinked that he had a third eyelid just like a cat’s. A small humming seemed to come from deep in his chest.

“Is that a bad sign, that sound?” She asked, not looking away from his eyes.

“No,” Dany said, “I call that _durring_ ; it’s like the dragon equivalent of purring. They don’t do it very often.”

Brienne finally looked over at the queen, surprised to find a combination of satisfaction and jealousy in her face. Dany smiled a little self-consciously.

“I had really hoped you would get on with one of them, but I confess I am a little surprised and envious at how quickly Viserion came to you. They don't normally take to new people easily.”

“Is that why Ser Barristan is staying inside?” Brienne asked, “So they would have fewer people to distract them?”

“They are not overly fond of men.” Daenerys admitted, “With fairly good reason, in Viserion’s case. A man tried to tame him with a whip once while I was gone on Drogon; Rhaegal put an end to that. They tolerate a few men, though. Barristan a little, Ser Jorah not at all.”

“Why not Jorah, especially?” Brienne asked.

“I think he just gives off a stink of jealousy and possession around me that bothers them; especially Drogon.” Daenerys said, “He was there when they were born and at first he was like an uncle to them, but as time went on and they matured they came to dislike him.” 

She stepped toward Drogon and held up one dainty hand to him. He lowered his massive head and she reached between the bars to scratch the soft scales around his eyes. Brienne heard the low, vibrating _durrrr_ coming from him, louder and deeper in tone than Viserion’s.

“If I may be so bold, my queen, did you bring me here just to meet the dragons? Or did you have something else you wished to speak to me about?” Brienne said, “Not that I’m complaining; I have been fascinated by dragons since I was a young girl. Meeting one is like a dream coming true.”

“I am glad to hear you say that,” Dany said, “Let’s go back inside for and I will tell you why we came.” 

Brienne reached between the bars to give Viserion some last scratches over his eye ridges. He snorted warm air at her, much like a horse would. She turned to follow the queen, excitement warring with a sense of danger that had the back of her scalp tingling. 

What could the queen want with Brienne that had to do with dragons? Did she want Brienne to help care for them, since she was strong and the dragons did not like men? There could be few women in King’s Landing brave enough to work with the great beasts. Brienne wondered how many women like the Dothraki grandmother had come with Dany across the sea.

But if Daenerys wanted Brienne to be a glorified stable hand it hardly seemed sensible; she was of far more use as a fighter. Dany must want something else, something that wouldn’t take Brienne away from the battle in the north, and, Brienne noted with a lurch of her heart, away from Jaime.

Maybe she just wanted advice on using the dragons when she finally brought them to join the battle in the north: the best places to deploy them; which creatures would be most devastated by dragon flame. Brienne had plenty of opinions on that subject. These dragons should have joined the fight months ago. Thousands of lives could be saved if Daenerys would bring them to the wall. If she sent word ahead they could even have some tasty sheep laid in to feed them. They could stay in one of the abandoned fortresses along the Wall. 

Maybe there was something else, unrelated to dragons, that the queen needed from her, and she had only brought her here to win her over by letting her meet a dragon. Could the queen want to put Brienne in charge of a unit of fighters? She had some experience of that, being one of Jaime’s captains. 

Or perhaps this was just about Jaime, and Daenerys was finally coming to her senses about how useful he could be going forward. If so, Brienne would fair talk her ears off about all of Jaime’s qualities as a commander. Ser Barristan was still not fond of Jaime, but he must have come along for some reason. Even he must see that Jaime had saved King’s Landing when he killed the mad king.

Brienne had only recently met Ser Barristan, when she first came to the keep. He seemed an honorable man, and his fighting skills were impressive. Still, his demeanor often left her cold and his continuing disapproval of Jaime didn’t make her inclined to like him, either.

Daenerys led Brienne back into the main room of the building attached to the pit. Ser Barristan was enjoying a steaming mug of what smelled like mulled wine. When he saw the women he stood and waited patiently until Dany had seated herself. While Brienne settled herself in another of the big, comfortable chairs Barristan went into what must have been a small kitchen and brought out two more mugs of the hot wine. He handed them each one. 

Brienne set hers down on a table next to her. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, and wanted to be sharp for whatever was coming. She sat up straight and tense in her chair and waited while Daenerys took a sip of the wine and then curled her legs under her in the big chair. _Such a tiny thing_ , Brienne thought, _to wield such power_.

“Lady Brienne, can you guess why I brought you here?” Daenerys asked. She was smiling, but Brienne did not find it inspired her confidence.

“I confess that I cannot, you Grace.” She said, resisting the urge to twist her hands together in her lap like a nervous child.

“Did you like the dragons?” Dany asked.

“I am not sure if one can ‘like’ dragons, your Grace. They seem far too dangerous to simply ‘like’ them. I did find them beautiful and awe-inspiring.”

“And Viserion? It looked like you might have ‘liked’ him.” Dany teased lightly, but Brienne sensed something leading behind her easy words.  
“He is quite beautiful. He seemed to be a little tamer than the other two.”

“Viserion is actually just as wild as Drogon and Rhaegal. He did seem intrigued by you, though.”

“I have always gotten on well with animals,” Brienne said, “possibly because I tend to care for them more I than do for most people.”

“Then what I am about to tell you should make you happy,” Daenerys said, her smile turning sharp. Ser Barristan was watching Brienne from beneath his bushy white brows. He was not smiling.

Brienne tilted her head, thinking: _Make me happy? I doubt it_.  She said nothing, the sense of danger getting stronger.

Daenerys waited for her to speak. Brienne took a drink of her wine. Barristan cleared his throat.

“Lady Brienne, I need your help with the dragons,” Daenerys said bluntly.

“My… _help_.” Brienne said, willing the queen to get on with what she wanted to say.

“Yes. My people expect the dragons to aid in the fight up at the Wall. I have flown on Drogon once, but I did not command him. I was not raised around animals, my lady, or I might have known to train my dragons when they were younger. As their mother, I must admit that I rather indulged them.” Dany paused to sip some more wine, “When they grew larger and more dangerous there was little I could do to control them. Men have tried to step in and tame them, but most, I’m afraid, failed.”

“Failed, your grace?”

“Were killed by the dragons, Brienne. I have come to realize that the dragons are less aggressive to women. Most women, though, are not only too craven to earn a dragon’s respect, but few are strong enough to work with a dragon in any meaningful way. You are both brave and strong. It also appears that your prowess with horses might also be true of dragons.”

Brienne had been holding her breath as she realized why Dany had chosen her for whatever it was she wanted. Strength. Bravery. Perhaps being somewhat disposable in the scheme of things.

“So you believe I can tame your dragons in some way?”

“I don’t think anyone can _tame_ a dragon, but I do need you to _train_ a dragon. Just Viserion, since he seems to have chosen you.”

“ _Just_ Viserion,” Brienne said, thinking of the huge, deadly reptile out in the pit, “Train him. To what? Walk on a leash? Not chew up her Grace’s shoes? To paw the ground for treats?”

“I am glad you see some humor in this,” the queen said, “You’ll need it. I want you to train Viserion to carry a rider on his back.”

Brienne whistled through her teeth. This queen might be as mad as her father, she thought. “You will pardon my doubts, but if the dragons have become accustomed to killing their trainers I hardly think that someone like me with a little horse sense is the person to step in where the others failed. Who is this poor, doomed soul you are expecting to ride your wild flying beast?”

“You.” Came Ser Barristan’s voice, and Brienne turned to look at him. Seeing his serious, even pitying expression, the blood drained from her face. She shakily took another sip of the warm wine.

“Then I must refuse,” Brienne said with more certainty than she felt. “In just over a sennight your fighters will be marching on the King’s Road. I belong with them. I intend to return to the fight in the north. Ser Jaime and I left men behind who have been fighting all this time, waiting for fresh forces.”

Queen Daenerys exchanged a look with Ser Barristan before speaking again, “I know that you want to be with your Ser Jaime, my lady. He is my leverage to convince you to do this. If you agree to take on Viserion’s training, _and_ you can break him to a saddle and show me that you can fly him, I will allow you to travel with the army and your lover.”

“And if I do not agree to train the dragon?”

“I can make your life quite _unpleasant_. I can hold you in the Keep when the army goes north. I could even send you back to your father on Tarth, if the weather ever allows for it. Or,” Daenerys paused, narrowing her eyes at Brienne, “I could send you with the army but put you and Ser Jaime in separate units that would never fight in the same time or place. Cersei would be in Jaime’s unit, and he would, by royal decree, have to keep her near him at all times, including in his tent. To keep her out of trouble, as it were. You would rarely see each other.”

 _Jaime and Cersei in the same tent? Jaime would never stand for that_ , Brienne thought.

“What if I try to train Viserion and fail?” Brienne asked.

“If he hasn’t killed or maimed you in seven days, and I see you’ve made an honest effort with him, I will release you from training duty to travel with the army.”

“And if I successfully fly him? Then what?”

“Then I might need you again, when I am ready for the dragons to fight the Others. I would need you to fly him in battle. But that would not be for many moons, and we, Drogon and I, would fly with him to wherever you are fighting.”

“And Rhaegal? Who will fly him?”

“I wish I knew, Brienne. He is unpredictable, and even I am afraid to risk flying on him.”

“When do you need an answer from me, your Grace?” Brienne asked over the sick feeling in her stomach. 

“I would like your answer now, of course,” Daenerys said, “but I will give you until tomorrow eve to make your decision. I _need_ you for this, Brienne. I am sorry to have to make threats if you refuse, but you could potentially save many lives by training Viserion. He was such a sweet baby, Brienne. I wish you could have seen him then.”

 _A sweet, murderous baby_ , you mean, Brienne thought. “I’m sure I will have questions in the meantime,” she said, “about the possible details of this training.”

“Tyrion can answer any questions that you come up with. If he doesn’t know the answer he will find out from me.” Daenerys told her.

 _That little shit Tyrion, again! He knew this was coming_. _Jaime’s with him right now; I wonder if Tyrion will tell him about this meeting with the queen_.

Ser Barristan cleared his throat and said, “I believe the storm is getting stronger, your Grace, and the light is fast fading from the sky. May I suggest we ride for the Keep while we can still see the road?”

“You are right, of course, Barry. Please got let Ashefa know that we’ll want the horses.” Daenerys said.

When he had gone Dany leaned conspiratorially toward Brienne. “So tell me, Brienne, how close was the song to the truth about you and Jaime?”

 _Girl talk? Now?_ Thought Brienne. “Which parts, your Grace?”

“Which parts? I have to choose? How about the bear pit, we’ll start with that.”

“Yes, that was all true,” Brienne said, finding it ludicrous to discuss it with someone who had just threatened to keep her and Jaime apart.

“I didn’t believe it when I first heard the tale,” Dany admitted, “but the more I learned about the two of you, the more I believed it possible. Is it true you fight back to back when you battle the Others? That between the cage of steel you create no ice sword can get through?”

“That is also true, your Grace,” Brienne said grudgingly.

“And _are_ you secretly married?”

“If I told you that, your Grace, if would hardly be a secret any longer, would it?” Brienne said sullenly.

Dany laughed, which made Brienne all the angrier at this farce. First, to demand a possibly deadly favor of her under threat of taking the thing most dear to her away, and then to rub her nose in it with romantic conjecture. What a twit the queen was turning out to be.

They heard a long whistle outside and rose to go to their horses. Brienne hugged Sean before she mounted, wishing he could hug her back. She needed to get back to the Keep to talk this out with Jaime. He might see some angle that she was missing. They could go have some mushy fish together in the dining hall; Brienne was nearly hungry enough to eat even that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! What will she do? What will Jaime think? Is there trouble a-wing?
> 
> I lie in wait for your comments and pounce upon them like a dragon on a tasty sheep. Feed me!
> 
> Skybiscuit/Biscuit is in honor of SandwichesYumYum for her timely encouragement biscuits and hilarious Jaime dialogs on Tumblr.
> 
>  _Ashefa_ : River  
>  _nesat_ : I know  
>  _kristasof_ : grandmother


	19. Brienne, Snow Septas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loras sighed, but didn’t argue. He dropped his arm from Brienne’s shoulder and turned on the bench to look at her. He had never seen her look so miserable and betrayed, not even the day she had brought Jaime home to King’s Landing only to be put under arrest. She had not shed a tear then, but she’d clearly been weeping tonight.

Brienne was relieved to ride through the gates of the Red Keep. The trek back from the dragon pit through the whirling snow and gathering dark felt as though it had leached all of the warmth from her soul. She wanted only to find Jaime and tell him of the dragons and Dany’s demands. Jaime had more experience with the manipulations of people in power, and Brienne hoped he might have some insight about the threats the queen had made.

Ashefa dismounted in front of the stable to take the reins of the four horses. Brienne once again hugged her faithful steed, inhaling his warm, horsey smell. She reminded the groom that came out to take him from the Dothraki to put his blue blanket on him so that he wouldn’t catch a chill. She entertained a brief vision of Viserion in a dragon-sized blanket, durring away as he slept. Dragons were such a contradiction of strength and sweetness.

Brienne nodded briefly to Daenerys and Ser Barristan, unwilling to give them even the clumsy half curtsey she normally attempted. She briskly walked across the outer yard, distancing herself as quickly as she could from them. The wind was at her back, making her blue cloak cling to her as she walked.

She was relieved to see the lighted windows of the Royal Sept and the Maidenvault. Entering the vault, she noticed that Helyn was still at her post, her eyes closed and her skirts back in place. Brienne let her sleep and went through the door, entering the hallway that led to her chambers. 

As Brienne stepped into the hall she saw a door open toward the end of the row of rooms. Jaime walked out, followed by Cersei. Brienne halted where she was; dread pooling in her stomach at seeing Jaime with his sister. They had stopped just past Cersei's chamber door; Brienne could see that Jaime's black jerkin was partially unlaced. Cersei wore a gown with a very low-cut, gem encrusted bodice that revealed more of her full breasts than it concealed. Her hair was clean, the lightly curling golden locks gracefully falling upon her shoulders.

Brienne watched in horror as Cersei pressed herself against Jaime until she had backed him up against the wall. She raised one hand into his hair and pulled his head down to her. She slid her other hand into Jaime's breeches, which Brienne could see were still laced but untied at the top. She could tell when Cersei's probing hand wrapped around Jaime's cock by the way his head came up, the apple of his throat bobbing. He stared down at Cersei, who gave a low, sensuous laugh that carried to Brienne at the end of the hall. 

She had been frozen in place as though caught in a nightmare, but now Brienne’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cry as she pivoted on her heel and left the hallway as quickly as she could. She didn’t even glance at Helyn as she left the Maidenvault, trying not to run in her urgency to distance herself from what she had witnessed. As she fled back into the storm the wind gusted against her and she let it whip the tears that had been standing in her eyes back across her cheeks. 

She didn’t know where to go; she couldn’t go to her room, and she wouldn’t go to Jaime’s room in Traitor’s Walk. She entered the building that housed the dining hall and ballroom, and stood still just inside the doorway, brushing the wetness from her cheeks. It took a few minutes for her wildly racing thoughts to calm enough for her to decide where to go. She walked down the corridor to the dining hall and went inside. 

It was early in the evening, and most of the people sitting around at various tables were relaxing with tankards of ale or cups of wine. The din of the kitchen staff readying the night’s meal could be heard beneath the laughter and loud conversations going on around Brienne. 

Few people took note of her as she made her way to an empty table in the farthest corner of the room and sat down with her back to the door. A servant came by and Brienne considered requesting some bread to sop up the emptiness gnawing at the pit of her stomach, but found herself requesting a flagon of wine instead. When it came she filled her cup to the brim and took a long swallow. _How could he?_ She thought, _how?_ She took another drink and felt the alcohol spreading heat through her chest and limbs, though it seemed to bypass her heart, leaving it aching and chilled. _Traitorous heart_ , she thought, _I_ told _myself not to trust it_. 

Brienne drained her cup and re-filled it. _Cersei, always Cersei_. She had been worried that Jaime would return to Cersei’s bed when first she learned his sister would also be taking the Silver. While unhappy about it, she had believed then that she had no claim on Jaime’s heart. That was before Jaime had begun courting her, giving Brienne reason to believe that she was the woman he wanted. Was it a lie or was he simply unable to resist his beautiful sister, the only woman he had ever fucked? Brienne scrubbed her hand across her face. Maybe he hadn’t wanted Brienne that way after all, or maybe it was just easier for him to take from Cersei what was so willingly given.

Cersei’s words echoed in Brienne’s head ' _He does not want you; he has never wanted anyone but me in his bed._ '

Had this happened between them before and she just happened to see it this time? Brienne would have sworn to Jaime's indifference to Cersei’s charms, but maybe he’d lied to protect her feelings. She had always believed that Jaime was a man not meant for celibacy; he’d broken those vows before to be with Cersei. He had made no vows to Brienne; even if he loved her as he said he did, Jaime had made no plans with her for the future. All he had really promised was more of the pleasure they had shared in her bed. 

Only last night he had denied he could ever love Cersei again, and Brienne had said to him ‘ _I did wonder if once you were near her again you would end up between her legs.’_ Jaime’s response had been _‘You can’t really have thought I was that stupid?’_

But he hadn’t really denied it. Gods, had he really thought she was that stupid? Apparently he did, and just as apparently, she was.

Brienne had worried that their friendship would be ruined if they crossed that thin boundary they had always kept between them. Why had he even bothered telling her he loved her? They might have enjoyed each other without that, as they had on numerous occasions, just more chastely. It might not have ruined their friendship, if he hadn’t led her to believe…    

But had he? Had he done any more than say he loved her and given her a stupid rose? Brienne leaned over to reach into her boot and retrieve the rose she had tucked there. Her head spun as she sat up straight again; the wine was doing its job admirably.

She held the rose up to look at it. It really had been a sweet gesture, she supposed. _Fucking stupid roses. I hate roses_ , Brienne thought, _I suppose Jaime is little better than any other man, courting me just to take his pleasure._ _I wish I could hate him as I hate Connington. Connington…why did he hit Red Ronnet Connington_? Her increasingly fuzzy thoughts tried to grasp what he had told her about it. ‘ _He needed to learn a little respect_.’ She remembered him telling her. That was Jaime, through and through. He had always defended her. He had also admitted he didn’t hit Connington for her, but for himself.

Brienne let the rose fall from her fingers onto the table.

Despite how Jaime had now ruined their friendship and trampled her heart, maybe he hadn’t really understood that his seeming to offer her something she had always wanted would tear her apart in the end. Between him and Cersei they had found all of her weaknesses and she felt utterly defeated.

Brienne held up her arm to request more wine, wishing she could talk to her closest friend in the world about what had happened. Jaime had been everything to her, and now she was denied even the comfort of going to him with her troubles.

What had Tyrion said last night? ‘ _I think I know what you are to him,_ ’ Well, that was vague, wasn't it? It had seemed sweet at the time, even hopeful, but coming from Tyrion, there could have been levels of meaning to it that she was too dense to see. 

Tyrion had also said, ‘ _have a care for his feelings; he is a tender-hearted fool_.’ How many ways could she interpret that? Brienne had to admit that Jaime was tender-hearted. Had Cersei found a way to manipulate him after all by appealing to his sentimental side? _Oh, Jaime_ , Brienne thought, a tear slipping down her cheek, _how much worse will I feel if you are back in love with her as well as fucking her._ But could she really feel any worse? Either way, she thought she couldn’t face him again. 

If she hadn’t witnessed Cersei holding his cock so boldly, she wondered if she would ever have figured it out. Would he have been waiting in her chambers for her, expecting to continue what they had started? Would he touch her the way he had probably touched Cersei in her chambers? Would he have tied his jerkin and his breeches back up and pretended nothing had happened with Cersei? Would that be better or worse than him telling her the truth? Without realizing it, Brienne let more tears fall. When one splashed on the table she used the heels of her hands to wipe them away. She knew was even uglier when she cried, but who cared?

 _I could just train Viserion_ , she thought, _I don’t have to face Jaime again. I could send him a note. Something brief, like “Enjoy your sister,” or “Cersei wins.”_ Or she could just not send word at all. She could have her things retrieved and sent to the building attached to the dragon pit. It had looked like it was well appointed enough to have bed chambers.

Brienne poured herself another cup of wine, reflecting that she and Cersei now had something more in common than wanting Jaime. The thought disgusted her. She flagged down another servant and asked for rum instead. The servant, a matronly looking woman, looked at Brienne’s reddened eyes and tear-streaked face pityingly. 

“Man trouble, sweetling?” she asked. Brienne just nodded, afraid her voice would waver and crack. “Well," the woman said, leaning down conspiratorially, “I say, fuck ‘em all. Can’t trust a one o’ the lot of ‘em.” Brienne nodded again, wishing the woman would just go get her rum.

After the servant left, Brienne reached for her wine, but her unsteady hands rocked the cup and most of what was left slopped out on the table. The red liquid spread and some of it pooled around and under the rose she had dropped. _It looks like the rose is lying in a pool of blood. How appropriate_ , she thought, _I must be drunk because I am getting positively maudlin_. She put her head down on her folded arms, not noticing that her sleeve was also soaking up some of the wine she had spilled. 

The servant returned with a little pottery jar full of rum and a small ceramic cup.

“Have a care, sweetling. This’ll sneak up on you in no time, though I’ll warrant you’re already going to be sick as a snark come morning.”

Brienne raised her head, smiled blearily at the woman and waved her thanks. She filled the little cup and drank the fiery liquid. It burned going down her throat and she savored the feeling. I can tolerate this kind of pain, she thought.

“Brienne?” she heard her name called from somewhere behind her. Ser Dwayne came into view and peered down at her from his great height. Brienne looked up at him, trying to widen her eyes so she wouldn’t appear as drunk as she was.

“Dwayne, well shmet,” she said, “I mean, mell shmet. Shit,” she tried again, pronouncing the words slowly and carefully “Well. Met.”

“Are you drunk my lady?” he asked, sitting down at her table, facing her.

“Maybe?” Brienne said with a little smile.

“You've been crying,” Dwayne said, looking at her closely.

“Have not,” she denied, brushing her fingers under her eyes to wipe away any tears still lingering. Dwayne cocked his head at her and raised his eyebrows, concern in his pretty gold and green eyes. “Okay,” Brienne admitted, “maybe a shlittle.”

“Where’s your lord?” Dwayne asked.

“Don’t have a lord.” Brienne said with dignity. She tried to pour another shot of the rum, but her hands were shaking. Dwayne took the jar from her and poured. 

“Okay, not your lord, then. Where is Ser Jaime?” He raised his arm for a servant.

“Jaime?” she said blearily.

“Lannister? One-handed knight, handsome, maybe a little conceited?” The servant came and Dwayne requested another cup and jar of rum.

“Jaime,” Brienne said concisely, “is off fucking Cersei.”

“That whoreson…” Dwayne swore hotly.

Brienne laughed a little, “Not a ‘whoreson’,” she said, “a whore-brother.” She drank half of the rum in her cup and set it down hard.

“How much have you had to drink?” Dwayne asked her.

“This is only my first jar of rum,” she said. 

Dwayne looked at the empty flagons and the wine spilled on the table and whistled.

“Do you have any idea how sick you are going to feel in the morning?”

“I have been duly informed.” Brienne said.

“So, the Kingslayer – sorry, Lannister, has gone back to his sister?” Dwayne asked quietly.

“I shaw them together,” Brienne told him, leaning her chin in her hand so her head wouldn’t wobble, “whether he hash gone back or never shleft, I don’t know.”

“Brienne, my lady, in that case he never deserved you in the first place.” Dwayne said stoutly.

“Yep, no one desherves the likes of me,” Brienne said, “I really should have known better.” She gulped the last of her cup and held it out for more. Dwayne filled it, and then emptied the jar into his mouth.

“Gods, you’re drinking this straight?!?” he gasped, coughing. Brienne smiled shyly at him, proud of her fortitude in the face of icky tasting liquor. The servant swept by with the new jar and cup, eyeballing Dwayne with interest. 

“Now then,” she said with satisfaction, “Lover’s quarrels are quick to heal,”

Brienne gaped up at her, but couldn’t think how to respond, so she just nodded.

“You two do make a lovely couple, I must say. It mustn’t be easy to find a man taller than you, dearie.”

“It’s snot,” Brienne said, bewildered.

The servant placed a plump hand on Dwayne’s shoulder, “Have a care you don’t take her for granted again, young lord; you may be bigger’n her, but I bet she could take you.”

The woman walked away and Dwayne and Brienne both laughed.

“I know,” Brienne said, “let’s go spar now! We can pick up tourney swords in the armory and the snowlight should be enough to see by.”

“No, Brienne. You are far too drunk to spar.”

She looked at his attractive, kind face and blushed when she thought about other ways there were to spar. “Are you afraid I’ll beat you?” she challenged, “Even three sheeps to the shwind?”

“I think you _might_ be able to beat me sober, but I’m worried you’ll just end up defeating yourself if you try to use a sword when you’re this drunk.”

“Craven,” she teased.

“Drunkard,” he said, pouring rum for both of them. “So, I thought Jaime Lannister was devoted to you. Loras told me he had long since ended his relationship with Cersei.”

“Guessh snot,” Brienne said.

“Seriously, my lady, are you sure he is with her?”

“I shaw her put her hands down hish breeches and grab his cock.” She said, raising an eyebrow and trying not to let her lip tremble. 

Dwayne looked into Brienne’s big, bloodshot eyes a moment, trying to think of something encouraging to say.

“Um, maybe…er, I don’t know what to say to that. Do you want me to challenge him? He sounds like he could use a good thrashing.”

“He’s better with a sword than you think,” Brienne defended, “but I just want to forget about it, forget about him,” _as if I could_ , she thought, and this time her lip did tremble, and she was unable to stem the tears.

Loras approached the table, calling cheerfully, “Dwayne, Brienne! Well met!” 

Brienne didn’t look at him, but Loras could see the grim, sympathetic look on Dwayne’s face. He peered at Brienne, who was trying to hide her face by looking in the other direction. He immediately sat next to Brienne and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Lady Brienne, what’s wrong? Has something happened to Ser Jaime?” he asked urgently.

“Yes,” Dwayne answered for her, “He’s fucking Cersei.”

“No, he couldn’t be,” Loras gasped, “That little whoreson…    ”

“Whore-brother,” Brienne and Dwayne said simultaneously. 

“No, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t be.”

“Brienne saw them together,” Dwayne volunteered, “The strumpet had his cock in hand.”

“What? No!” Loras protested, “Out in the open? Where was this?”

“The Maidenvault,” Brienne said, “they came out of Cersei’s room. Jaime’s breeches were untied, and hish jerkin wash partly unlaced. Cersei pushed him up against the wall and shtuck her little paw down hish breeches.”

“Gods,” Loras moaned, hugging Brienne closer, “Where were you?”

“I wash at the end of the hall. They didn’t shee me.”

“I’m stunned, Brienne,” Loras told her. “Dwayne, we need to challenge him. He can’t do this to Brienne.”

Brienne giggled and took another gulp of the rum.

“How long have you been sitting here drinking?” Loras asked her, eyeing the array of alcohol on the table. Dwayne raised his hand to summon the servant again.

“I came straight here after I saw them. I was going to tell Jaime about my meeting with the queen.”

The servant came cheerfully back to their table. “Goodness, but you sure have a way with the handsome young lads,” she told Brienne, “I assume you’re wanting more rum?” she said with a wink. 

“Actually, I’d like some wi...” Loras started to say.

“Yes, more rum.” Dwayne confirmed, looking pointedly at Loras, and the woman bustled off, no doubt to share some gossip with the kitchen staff while she got the rum. “Solidarity. We can’t let Lady Brienne drink rum all by herself.”

Loras sighed, but didn’t argue. He dropped his arm from Brienne’s shoulder and turned on the bench to look at her. He had never seen her look so miserable and betrayed, not even the day she had brought Jaime home to King’s Landing only to be put under arrest. She had not shed a tear then, but she’d clearly been weeping tonight.

“You can tell _us_ about your meeting with the queen, instead,” he told her.

Brienne sighed. “She wants me to train a dragon,” She told them, “to fly in battle.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Dwayne said with a low whistle.

“But aren’t you traveling north with the rest of us?” asked Loras.

“Her Grace said that if I don’t try to train Viserion she would sheparate me and Jaime. Turns out she won’t need to.” Brienne laughed weakly, “She threatened to make Cersei camp in Jaime’s tent if I didn’t agree to her plan. I thought she wash mad for thinking he would put up with that.” 

“Oh, Brienne,” Loras said softly, stroking her hair when she laid her head back on her folded arms. “Is this a rose?” he asked, picking up the abandoned flower from its shrinking pool of wine.

“Uh huh,” Brienne mumbled, not raising her head.

“It’s leather,” Loras said in surprise.

“Also, it’s your house sigil, and a little singed, just like you.” Brienne said, “Jaime gave it to me last night, but I told him I hated roses, so he held it over a candle before I could stop him.”

“That was manly of him, to burn it just because you didn’t like it.” Loras said with a frown, “Seems a little extreme to me.”

“He was frustrated because he’s been trying to court me and he keeps doing things that other men already tried. Like the carrots.” Brienne raised her head and grinned a little, “He said the leather rose would last forever and remind me of Spring to come. It was sweet, really.”

“And the carrots?” asked Dwayne.

“Long story.” Brienne said, rolling her eyes. “You know what? I want to go see my horse.” She quaffed another cup of rum and made to stand up. Loras caught her before she fell off the bench. 

“Oof, my lady, next time Dwayne has to catch you.”

“My pleasure,” Dwayne said, smiling. “Come on, Loras, let’s go see a horse.” He walked around the table, staggering a little himself, and offered his hand to Brienne. “And Loras?” 

“Yes?”

“Catch up. You need to drink some of this rum, if only to save us from it.”

Loras grimaced, but poured himself a cup and drank it in one gulp. His eyes watered, but he managed not to cough.

“Now, if you’ll carry the jar and cups, I’ll try to make sure Brienne the Brave doesn’t fall down and become Brienne the Bruised,” Dwayne said, arranging her arm over his shoulder and holding on securely to her hand while wrapping his other arm around her waist. He easily propelled her away from the bench and the two of them wove just a little as they left the hall with Loras following behind, looking melancholy but a little amused. 

The rose lay on the table, wine-stained and forgotten.

The hall was starting to fill up with diners, but with a little maneuvering they were able to exit without bowling anyone over. A little way past the door they saw Tyrion enter the building and begin walking toward them. 

Tyrion took in the trio and stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging slightly open. He did not miss that Dwayne had his arm around Brienne’s waist, or that Brienne was resting her head against his unreasonably broad shoulder. Brienne had not noticed him yet, and did not see how pale his face had suddenly become.

“My lords,” said Tyrion politely when they reached him, “Lady Brienne.”

Brienne held her head up and looked blearily at Tyrion. She narrowed her eyes briefly before she looked away, her heated cheeks only intensifying the look of anger and sorrow he glimpsed on her face.

“Where’s Jaime?” Tyrion asked the group.

“Fucking Cersei.” They all said together.

“Not funny.” Tyrion said, “Where is he really? Is he okay, Brienne?”

“Ashk him.” Brienne said shortly.

“Are you drunk, my lady?” Tyrion asked with concern.

“I might be,” she told him, “I shtarted with wine, but then decided I already had too much in common with your shister and shwitched to rum. Want shome?”

“I might need some.” Tyrion said, “But surely this is some foul rumor? Jaime wants nothing to do with Cersei. He loves you. He told me so.”

“She saw them together,” Dwayne said, shifting his grip on Brienne as she began to slide down on her wobbly legs.

“Doing what?” asked Tyrion skeptically.

“Your slutty sister had her hand down Jaime’s Breeches.” Loras told him.

“Doing…?”

 “Well, she wasn't holding his _hand_ ,” Loras said sarcastically.

“Where was this?” Tyrion asked, panic edging his voice.

“In the Maidenvault, just outside of Cersei’s room.” Dwayne told him.

“Damn. Shit. Fuck.” Tyrion growled, “Brienne, there must be some explanation! Jaime – “

“Doesn’t deserve her.” Dwayne finished for him. 

Brienne shook her head, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. She wanted to confront Tyrion about what the queen had wanted, but it suddenly seemed pointless to her. She pulled Dwayne forward, and together they lurched toward the door and went out into the snow. 

Tyrion reached up and grabbed Loras’ sleeve. “Loras, this can’t be right! You know Jaime; he wouldn’t betray Brienne.”

“Maybe he doesn’t see it as a betrayal,” Loras said, “has he made any vows to Lady Brienne? No? Then he hasn’t broken any. It seems to me that all she has from him is a nickname: Kingslayer’s Whore. How do you think that sits with her? I don’t want to believe he would do this, either,” he said sadly, “but the evidence of her own eyes is pretty damning.”

“Cersei has to be behind it,” Tyrion said.

“Regardless, it is _Jaime_ that has wounded Brienne. I had always thought he needed her more than she needs him. _Her_ honor has never been in question. She’s ready to go risk her life training a dragon and says she never cares to see Ser Jaime again. Of course, she’s very, very drunk. She may feel differently in the morning.”

“Oh, Gods, this is terrible.” Tyrion said, running his hand through his hair, “Please don’t let her do anything she’ll regret, Loras. That Ser Dwayne, can he be trusted?”

“He is pretty drunk as well,” Loras said, “and I am not their keeper. But I will try to keep an eye on them.”

“I have to go find Jaime. Poor, stupid, naïve, Jaime. I warned him not trust Cersei.”

Loras shrugged and took his leave. He didn’t see Brienne and Dwayne anywhere, but their tracks were visible and headed in the direction of the stable. Eventually he heard laughter and came upon the two of them lying in the middle of the field in the snow.

“Look!” Brienne called out to him, “We’re making snow septas!”

Loras saw that they were, with half a dozen septa-shaped indents in the snow, the long sleeves of the traditional septa robes represented by the furrows one’s arms moving back and forth in the snow made. Both Brienne and Dwayne were covered in snow, and Loras could see that the idea of making the snow septas came to them only after they had already fallen in a high drift of the stuff.

He hoped they would be able to get up again. Both were much too large for him to lift. Loras wondered if they might have some common ancestor with their similar build. 

“Weren't we headed to see your horse, my lady?” He said reasonably.

“Oh, we were! C’mon, Dwayne, you have to meet Sean. Besht horshe in Westeros. He got near enough to smell dragons today and he didn’t even shy away. He’s my brave boy.”

As Loras watched, the two crawled a ways in the snow and gradually rose out of it like hulking snow monsters. They lurched toward the stables. Loras took a swig of the rum directly from the bottle, fearing this night was going to be a very long one, and followed.

The stables were warm and dim, the sleepy mutterings of livestock and plocking of chickens disturbed by the intruders a relief after the silence of the snowy yard. Brienne made her way back to Sean, her hands out to steady herself against walls and stalls as she staggered. Sean’s big eyes were gleaming in the dark as his mistress approached. He put his head over the fence and nudged at Brienne. She rested her head against his and whispered “Oh, Sean,” in a small voice. Loras heard the tears behind her words and put his hand out to stop Dwayne from going up to them. They could hear Brienne talking quietly to her horse, telling him her woes, taking comfort in his familiarity. 

“You’re my only true friend, now,” she said so quietly that no one but Sean and Ser Fluffy Tail could make out her words. She patted Jaime's horse as well. "I love you, too, Fluffy," she told him, "It’s not your fault your owner is a fuck-head." 

She started to open Sean's stall, and Loras and Dwayne both moved forward. 

“What are you doing?” Loras asked.

“I’m going to sleep in here with Sean tonight.” Brienne said, standing up as straight as she could. “He’ll share his blanket with me. Won’t you Sean?” She continued to rattle at his gate and Dwayne came up and put his arm over her shoulder, drawing her away.

“I’m sorry, Brienne, but it wouldn’t be safe to sleep with a drunk horse. I mean, to sleep with a horse when you’re drunk.” He said, trying to lead her away. 

“But, I _have_ to sleep here. I can’t go back to the Maidenvault. Jaime is waiting for me there. Well, I think he’s waiting. He was supposed to meet me there.” She looked wistfully back at Sean, “I’ll be careful. Maybe if I just wrap myself in my cloak outside his door?”

“No, my lady, you need to come back and sleep in a real bed.” Dwayne told her, “You can come back to my chambers for the night,” he said with a little smirk.

Loras raised his eyebrows, “Brienne of Tarth is a highborn lady…” he said.

“And she’ll still be one in the morning, on my honor.” Dwayne said. “You can stay too, on the couch. That way if she gets sick in the night one of us can hold her hair and the other can hold the chamber pot.”

Loras looked skeptical, and Brienne just looked about ready to fall asleep where she was standing.

“Come on,” Dwayne told him, gathering Brienne in a tight hold to walk her back to Maegor’s holdfast, where his rooms were. “And if Ser Jaime comes looking for her it might give him something to think about, finding that she’s spent the night with someone other than him.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are my rum and wine, my snow septas and durring dragons. I can't wait to get your impressions on this chapter and your thoughts on what's next.


	20. Jaime and Tyrion, Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion tries to find Jaime, Jaime tries to find Brienne, and the Dining Hall serves up a new side dish along with more wiggly horse hearts.  
> It's farce, it's angst, it's in-jokes about Jaime's hair. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll curse the author. 
> 
> It's also 9500 words: enjoy!

**Jaime**

Jaime stormed into Brienne’s chamber looking for something to throw. Picking an empty wine cup off the table he dashed it against the wall with a violence it didn’t deserve, shattering it. He needed something else, _anything_ to take out his anger on. He yelled and punched the wall with his fist, then howled at the pain of hitting the wood-covered stone. The wall was indifferent to his rage, so he kicked it for good measure. Afterwards, he hopped on one foot to the bed, cursing loudly. 

Maybe he _should_ have spent his fury on Cersei. He had only knocked her to the ground when she had dared to put her hand down his pants. She had probably hit the stone floor hard enough to bruise, but she had just laughed up at him in defiance. 

“You really are less than a man,” she had said to him with a thin smile, “No wonder you only want the Beast in your bed. She’s so ugly you’ll never be expected to get your sorry excuse for a cock up.” 

Jaime had stared down at her with loathing, fighting the urge to kick her where she had landed. As furious as he was, attacking someone who was helpless on the ground was not clean or chivalrous. He’d taken a deep breath, willing himself to be calmer. 

Before he could walk away Cersei had hissed up at him, “There was a time when my merest touch made you hard. You were once so much man you would have fucked me here in the hall if I’d allowed it. I guess they really did cut your cock off when they took your hand.”

“Sweet sister, is that all you can think to say to excuse my not wanting you anymore?” he’d grated out, “Do you know what I did when I got your letter there in the Riverlands? _I had it burned_. ‘ _I love you_ ,’ you wrote, _three times_ , as though if I weren’t convinced by the first I would somehow believe the next or the next. We were through _then_ , Cersei.  We were through even before I fell in love with Brienne.”

“You _burned_ it?” Cersei had said, narrowing her eyes, “You got the letter then, after all?”

“As I said.”

“And you just left me to die,” She’d said angrily, her face flushing.

“And yet, here you are, apparently unstoppable. I wish the Others better luck.”

“You can’t mean that, brother. You’re only angry because of this tiny problem you’re having with your limp cock. We can work on that together. I’m sure your hideous pet has no clue how to make you feel like a man; especially since she is more man than woman anyway.”

“This was your final warning Cersei: if you ever lay a hand on me again we’ll once more be a matching set, because _I will chop it off_.  To say nothing of what Brienne would do to you if she had seen what you tried just now.”

“Oh? You think so?” Cersei had said with a knowing smile, “Your ugly pet would protect you from me? You’re both so pitiful.”

Finding it more difficult by the second not to stomp on Cersei, Jaime had left her there on the floor and come in to take his rage out on the crockery. 

This whole thing started when he had seen Cersei coming out of her room earlier and decided to confront her about the threats she had made the night before, when he had been disguised as Brienne. 

“Sister,” he’d called to her, and she had waited for him to walk over to her.  “I understand that you spoke with Brienne last night,” he’d said when he was standing before her. Cersei had tilted her head at him with a questioning look but said nothing.  

Jaime had tried to keep his tone measured and calm, “She is my Lady,” he told her, “and I will not have you saying hateful things to her or making threats.”

Cersei had nodded and, surprisingly, apologized, “I am so sorry, dear brother, I don’t even remember talking to ‘your Lady’ last night. I fear all of the hippocras I drank must have affected my memory. But if you believe that I was inappropriate, then I truly regret it.”

Jaime hadn’t expected her to be so reasonable; he was relieved but mostly suspicious, “If it’s true that you regret your actions, then you will leave both of us alone from now on. _You_ _need to_ _understand_ that I am _never_ coming back to your bed.” He had hated having to say it so bluntly, but he knew Cersei would twist anything, given the chance.

“Yes, Jaime, I understand” she had said, so meekly that the battle he had expected seemed to be over without resorting to harsh words and threats.

“Thank you for understanding, Cersei,” he’d said, and turned to go. 

Before he could walk away, Cersei said, “Jaime, can we not talk a moment? I need to speak to you about Tommen. I fear there may be serious danger in Casterly Rock for him; I’ve heard rumors that make me frightened for his safety.”

“What? What have you heard? He is under guard, and the last I heard he was quite well.”

“We can’t talk here,” Cersei had whispered, her eyes darting up and down the hall, as though afraid of listeners, “what I have to say could be considered treasonous. Come into my room, so I can tell you what I know.” 

Worried for his son, Jaime had foolishly agreed to go into Cersei’s chamber with her. He had barely stepped inside before she had stepped up close and swifty pulled the laces loose on his jerkin. Catching her wrists angrily he had set her away from him. 

“ _Don’t ever touch me again_ ,” He’d growled, squeezing her wrists until she whimpered. “Do you _understand_?” 

Cersei had nodded, tears coming to her eyes. 

“That bit about Tommen, was that just a ruse to get me in here?”

She shook her head, looking up at him fearfully. “I’m sorry Jaime. Just, please, let me go.”

“You can talk to me in the hall about Tommen, if you must,” he’d said, and released her hands. She immediately reached out and pulled the tie on his pants; one swift tug was all it took to undo the simple bow. Jaime didn’t notice, he was in such a hurry to leave her room.

Cersei had followed him out, looked up and down the hall, and then suddenly pushed herself against him, tugging at his hair, reaching into his loosened breeches. He had been startled by her actions, rooted to the spot just long enough for her to grab his cock; _Gods, she was quick with those hands._ That was when he had thrown her onto the floor. It was a good thing her grip on his cock hadn’t been very tight or he might have actually regretted his actions.

It had been stupid to be lured into Cersei’s room at all, he thought now, lying back on the bed in the chamber he shared with Brienne. Tyrion had been right; she was not to be trusted. Words and even force weren’t going to work with Cersei. He was glad his body hadn’t responded to her as that might have made her bold enough to try it again. 

Jaime wished Brienne were already home. It was almost full dark outside now. He wondered if she had met with the queen earlier. Tyrion had hinted at some dangerous task Daenerys needed Brienne to do, but whatever it was, he knew they could face it together.  

He smiled, thinking about how well things were going between them. Their kiss in Traitor’s walk yesterday afternoon had been enough to make him truly ecstatic, but so much more had happened since then. Jaime closed his eyes, remembering their kiss in front of the Queen’s Ballroom, Brienne’s seeming indifference blooming into a passion to match his own, their feelings for one another undeniable at last. 

Then, in the ballroom, they had dared to behave like the lovers everyone already thought they were. Jaime remembered the warmth of her against him on the couch, his arms wrapped around her waist, her arms covering his. The feel of her silken hair under his lips. Even the memory of that too-tall boy from the free cities flirting with Brienne couldn’t spoil the memory. What was his name again? Drayne? Dryp? _Dwayne_ , that was it. 

Afterwards she had worn his cloak, made a joke about being his bride, kissed him. Soon, he hoped, there would be no joking about it. He would drape his cloak over her shoulders and no one would ever question that they belonged to each other. 

After he had left Tyrion in the afternoon he had gone to the rookery and paid for seven ravens to each carry the same message to Lord Selwyn on Tarth. Seven was a magic number; hopefully at least one would get through the storms. He had also paid a messenger to ride to King’s Landing with a note for Toby Mott. He was anxious to take Brienne to see his shop in the next day or two, and he hoped they could spend some time with Toby and his wife.

Jaime was beginning to get a little drowsy waiting for Brienne, but he wasn’t ready to stop reminiscing about the night before. Even the leather rose hadn’t ruined it, because not only had she stopped him from burning it, proving it meant something to her after all, but she had shown him the other flower she had preserved. She’d treasured that one enough to keep it close to her all this time. He should have offered her a favor a long time ago, but he was glad she had something from him that she treasured enough to keep safe. 

The best thing of all was her saying she loved him as he loved her. It was all out in the open between them now. Jaime sighed, grinning to himself as he lay there on the bed, arms up behind his head. He would never have to stop himself from telling her he loved her again. He could look forward to hearing her tell him that she felt the same. 

Jaime imagined being able to hold and kiss her when they went to their tent after a long battle, taking her clothes off and making her ready for him with his fingers and tongue. He imagined moving in her until she forgot all of the horrors of the night and wrapped her thighs around him, clenching his cock within her as she peaked. He could almost forget all of the less pleasant things waiting for them once they left King’s Landing, knowing they would finally be able to express their love.

There was a knock at the door and Jaime got up to answer it. Agnes stood on the other side, and gave him a bright smile and a curtsey.

“Ser Jaime! I’ve come to see when you and the lady Brienne might be wanting your bath brought round? I’ll just need to get a couple of the bigger lads to bring the tub and help carry the hot water.”

“Hello, Agnes,” Jaime said pleasantly, the prospect of the night ahead tempering his anger over Cersei, “I’m not sure about the timing of the bath; the lady has not come in yet this evening. I think she was meeting with the queen today.”

“Oh, I heard, Ser. I come across the queen’s messenger just after he spoke with the lady. The queen wanted lady Brienne to meet her at the stables to go for a ride.”

“Did she? Interesting. Until she comes in we won’t be needing the tub. I’ll send you word when we’re ready.”

“Very good, Ser,” Agnes said, dropping another curtsey, “Is there anything else the two of you would be wanting?”

“The usual things, I think. Soap, shampoo, towels, wine…privacy,” Jaime grinned.

Agnes smiled at him knowingly, “I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed, Ser.”

“Good. Also, the lady and I might be moving to different quarters soon. We’d like it if you continued to tend to us. I’ll see that Godfrey knows.”

“Thank you, Ser!” said Agnes happily, “Truth be told, I’m right scared I’ll run into your sister sometime here in the Maidenvault. ‘Twould be a relief to be away from her.”

“You and me both, Agnes.” Jaime said fervently. They both laughed nervously at the thought of encountering Cersei again. 

When Agnes had gone, Jaime put more wood on the fire in the hearth and then lay back on the bed again, thinking about his Wench, growing hard with longing for her touch. Tonight he would finally get Brienne into a bath with him again, but unlike Harrenhal, this time he was hale enough to do something about it. Maybe he would swoon into her arms again anyway, just for fun. 

It was full dark outside now, and Jaime worried about Brienne out riding so late with the queen. He decided if she wasn’t back soon he would go looking for her.

Jaime spent the time thinking about how soon he might hear from Lord Selwyn, if one of the ravens got through. He spent very little time worrying about whether Selwyn might give his consent to a betrothal; he was much more interested in wondering how Brienne would react to his proposal. Tyrion had seemed pleased at the prospect of having Brienne as his good sister. Despite their playful antagonism Jaime felt the two of them would come to quite like each other. He suspected they already did, in a way. 

Time passed slowly as Jaime watched the candle burn lower, hoping Brienne would walk in. When she still hadn’t come in after what seemed about a half hour, Jaime put on his cloak and boots. He wondered if he was to be allowed to wear a sword again soon, since he was no longer being guarded. He hoped so; not since his maiming had he spent so long without a sword at his hip.

He left the room and went out the doors. Helyn was awake and seemed alert. Jaime had failed to charm her before, but that didn’t stop him from smiling at her in hopes she would be receptive to him this time. 

“Good evening, my lady,” he said, “might I ask if you have seen Brienne of Tarth recently?”

Helyn peered at him a moment before answering, “Not since she left this morning, Ser. She wore a pretty blue and purple tunic and her hair was braided up nice for a change.”

“Thank you, lady Helyn,” Jaime said, “if you see her come in would you tell her I’ve gone to the stables and will be back soon?”

“Aye, I might do. If you see that handsome Horse Lord Hummock, would you tell him I’m off duty tonight at the tenth hour?”

“Aye, that I will do.” Jaime smiled to himself, wondering what Hemikh had gotten himself into. He walked out into the bailey, braced for the cold. The sleet and snow had slowed for the moment, though the wind never seemed to cease. The snow was quite deep as he trudged across the yard and under the portcullis leading to the stables. 

The stables were mercifully warm and dry, filled with the scent of hay and animals. Jaime lifted a lantern from the hook by the wall and made his way back to their horse’s stalls, expecting to find Sean’s empty. He was surprised to see Sean in his stall with his blanket on, looking for all the world as though he’d been there for a long time. Jaime looked him over and found him groomed and breathing easily, obviously not recently ridden.

“Hello, Sean,” he said, running his hand along the horse’s broad neck, “Where’s our girl gotten to? I know you got to spend the day with her, but now it’s my turn.” Sean rubbed his head against him and snorted. Fluffy Tail jealously bared his teeth at Sean, his ears back and his eyes glaring. “Sorry, Ser,” Jaime soothed him, “Are you mad because you didn’t get to go out today? Maybe tomorrow the four of us can ride into King's Landing to Mott’s forge. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” He vigorously scrubbed his stump into his horse’s forelock, which seemed to improve his spirits. “If either of you lads sees Brienne, do tell her I’m looking for her, won’t you?”

Jaime left the building, feeling uneasy that Sean had already been stabled. He wondered if Brienne were still with the queen somewhere. As he left the building he heard distant laughter coming from somewhere near the small hall. He wondered if someone was out enjoying the lull in the snow, maybe having a snow ball fight or out making snow septas. He hated being covered in snow with a passion, so whoever it was must be either very young or very stupid. Or possibly drunk. Curiosity nearly led him to take a look, but instead he decided to go to his room in the tower of Traitor’s Walk. He couldn’t think of any reason Brienne might go back there, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.

The tapestry of Robert Baratheon and the Greyjoy Rebellion had been taken away, and in its place was a smaller tapestry depicting a boar hunt. Jaime wasn't certain, but he thought the lead rider was also Robert, fatter and far less impressive than the previous scene. There was a good deal of mud scuffed over the figure, so it really could be anybody. Not wanting to miss the chance just in case it was Robert, Jaime made sure to wipe his boots thoroughly on it. At least there was one thing that he and Daenerys felt the same about: the only good use for the late king was as a shit scraper. 

Jamie took the stairs two at a time, hopeful that he would find Brienne in his room. It had only been a day, but the empty room already had a sad, deserted feel to it. Some of his belongings were still stacked in the corner, and snow dusted the bed where it had blown in through the uncovered window. Jaime grinned, remembering how he and Brienne had sat cross-legged there yesterday as she had so carefully shaved him. He rubbed his hand over the stubble that had grown since, glad that disguises were no longer necessary; he knew Brienne preferred him bearded. Jaime recalled the time he’d shorn off most of his hair just after she had returned him to King’s Landing; she'd said nothing about it at the time, of course, but ever since the Riverlands  she often made a point of commenting on how nice his hair was when it was longer.  

He wondered again where his Wench was now. He was becoming more than a little worried that she seemed to have disappeared after meeting with the queen. Could she have made the queen angry and been detained? Jaime’s stomach roiled to think Brienne might be in trouble somewhere. 

He found himself going down the stairs to the first level of the dungeons, suddenly afraid that Brienne might have been imprisoned there to force her into doing the queen’s bidding. He found the old gaoler, a rough man who looked like his liver had decamped years ago along with his hair, and asked if any women had been recently incarcerated. 

The man looked sourly at Jaime, “No, more’s the pity.” He said, picking something lumpy out of his ear with one long fingernail, “if it’s desperate women you’re wanting, m’lord, you’ll have to pay for ‘em down on the Street of Silk. Lots of women fleeing the north just now, whoring out for a chance at a warm bed.”

Jaime nodded and thanked the man for the information, managing to suppress his shiver of revulsion until he had ascended the stairs. He’d seen enough of dungeons and gaolers for several lifetimes. 

Beginning to fear something really awful was going on, he wondered where to look next. He decided that if Tyrion could be found he might know where Brienne was.

**Tyrion**

“I have to go find Jaime. Poor, stupid, naïve, Jaime. I warned him not trust Cersei.” Tyrion said to Loras, who merely shrugged and followed Brienne and Dwayne out of the small hall and into the snowy yard. 

He was tempted to follow them to look out for Brienne’s welfare, but decided finding Jaime to straighten out his mess was more important. 

He went to the doors closest to the middle bailey and pushed out through the deep drifts of snow. Even bundled up in layers of warm clothing he felt frozen through right away. Commanding soldiers up at the Wall was going to be like the seven hells frozen over. How he dreaded it. 

Tyrion hoped that Jaime would have a good explanation for what Brienne had seen. If he didn’t, if he had actually gotten entangled by Cersei’s wiles, there was no hope for him. He believed that Brienne loved his brother deeply, but he doubted she would be able to see past such a betrayal. Losing the girl he hoped to marry over a quick fuck with Cersei seemed out of character for the man Jaime had become. Even when he and Cersei had been lovers he hadn’t been a man to wander; he was nothing if not loyal and steadfast. Tyrion knew he owed his own life to Jaime’s sense of loyalty.

The Maidenvault was warm after the slog through the snow, yet Tyrion felt chilled by the task ahead of him. He greeted Helyn at her post and asked after his brother.

“Oh, yes, that handsome knight came by not long ago on his way out. I don’t know where he was going, though,” Helyn said, looking down at Tyrion curiously. “Do you know, you’re the very image of the old queen’s brother? He was a half man as well, you see.”

“Really?” said Tyrion, “I had not heard. Sweetling, if Ser Jaime passes this way again would you let him know that a half man was looking for him?”

Helyn preened a little at being called ‘sweetling’ and nodded, “I’ll let him know if I see him, young man.”

Tyrion thanked her and went through the door to see if Jaime was in Brienne’s chamber. He knocked, but receiving no answer, opened the door to check inside. The fire was burning in the hearth and several candles were lit, but Jaime was not within.

With a deep sense of dread Tyrion knew the next room he needed to check was Cersei’s. He walked to her door and knocked loudly. She took her time answering, and when she saw that it was Tyrion on the other side she put a hand on her hip and sneered down at him. She was dressed for seduction in a revealing gown, and had even managed to get the bear grease out of her hair.

“What do you want?” she asked without bothering to greet him. 

“Hello to you as well, sweet sister,” Tyrion said, “I’m looking for Jaime. Is he with you?”

“He was,” Cersei said with a lascivious smile, “but he’s gone now.”

Tyrion scowled; it was just the kind of vague answer he might have expected of her. “What have you done, Cersei?” he asked in a low voice that he hoped rather than believed would sound threatening.

“Me? I have done nothing that concerns you, little brother.”

“Have you done something that concerns Jaime?”

“What Jaime and I do when we’re alone is not your business, Tyrion.” She smirked, “Now do waddle along. I don’t know where Jaime is, but I doubt he’s with his fantastically ugly pet just now.”

Tyrion stared up at Cersei for a moment, trying to read her face for clues. He knew her triumphant look well, and there was more than a hint of it writ there tonight, but he could also see a seething anger in her eyes. Some part of whatever her scheme was had worked, but not entirely to her satisfaction. This fit with what Tyrion has suspected: she had managed to compromise Jaime where Brienne could see, but had probably been unsuccessful in luring him back to her bed. If she had succeeded she would be crowing about it. 

He turned and walked away without another word and heard the door slam shut behind him. He really needed to find Jaime before this all got more out of hand. Where to look for him next?   

**Jaime**

Maegor’s Holdfast, where the royal apartments and the chambers of anyone well-connected or royal enough to be in favor were located, was all the way across the keep from the Traitor’s Walk and the dungeons. Jaime hoped to find Tyrion there, or at least get a message to him.

On the way to the Holdfast he passed by the Maidenvault, so he decided to see if Brienne had come in while he had been searching for her. He asked Helyn if she had seen her.

“Aye, I saw her this morning, I did. Not seen her since, though.” Helyn told him, looking him up and down appraisingly, “Another knight was looking for her earlier, the old queen’s brother, I think.”

“You mean me, I think,” Jaime told her, his patience strained to breaking. 

Helyn looked at him, beckoned him closer, and then pronounced, “No, you’re more handsome than the old queen’s brother to be sure, but he was looking for her, too.”

Jaime thanked her, went through the doors and sprinted down the hall to their room. Brienne was not there. On his way back out he nodded at Helyn, worried that if he spoke to her again she would assume he was one of a set of triplets.

He took the serpentine steps to the lower bailey two at a time, and then crossed the bridge past the frozen heads, their mouths and eye sockets full of snow. This was his first time back in the Holdfast since his arrest, but he knew his way around well enough. The occupants of the chambers had changed, but the essentials were the same. He quickly found the old steward, Leyre, whom he had known since he was a boy. The man had served under four kings and a queen, but was still quite sharp.

Much as Jaime wanted to get answers to his questions, he tried to be calm enough not to excite the man’s enmity. Leyre was competent, but could also be mercilessly petty if he felt he was being disrespected in any way. 

“Leyre, well met!” he said jovially, “still holding down the ‘Fast, I see.” Jaime cringed at his own bad pun, but went on, “Must be a nice change, serving under a beautiful queen for a change, eh?” and then Jaime did cringe, remembering that Leyre preferred the company of his own gender. 

Leyre did not seem affronted, though. “Aye, it is different, Ser Jaime,” he said, “The new queen may have abominable fashion sense, but she’s no worse than the others, gives her orders plain and expects them to be obeyed. Always easier when there’s just one person to answer to.”

“Oh? Who would you say has been the most pleasant ruler you’re served under? I should think Tommen would have been quite easy to please.”

“Aye, but Tommen didn’t give the orders, Ser. The Queen Regent, your sister, did.”

“Oh, quite right,” said Jaime, “in that case may I just apologize on behalf of House Lannister for any ill-treatment you might have suffered under her reign.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Leyre said with very small smile, “Lord Tyrion also offered apologies for Queen Cersei. I must say I was tickled to hear she is no longer a Lannister at all.”

“As am I,” Jaime said, “Speaking of Tyrion, I was hoping to get a message to him, or to see him if he is about.”

“I’m afraid Lord Tyrion is not in the Holdfast that I know of. I believe he was headed to the small dining hall.” 

“I’m also looking for Brienne of Tarth, Lord Leyre, are you familiar with the lady?”

“I am familiar with her, Ser, though I have not had words with her this visit I did meet her when she brought you back to King’s Landing. I understand that she is something special to you?”

“She is,” Jaime confirmed, “Brienne went for a ride with the queen today, but has not returned to our rooms. I had hoped Tyrion might know where she was.”

“I will have a watch kept for Lord Tyrion so that he can be told you are looking for him,” the steward said, “and if I hear aught of your lady, I will have word sent to you. You are in the Maidenvault at present, I believe?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Jaime said gratefully and turned to go, then thought of one more thing, “Can you direct me to Ser Loras’ chambers? He and Lady Brienne have become friends; mayhap she is visiting with him.”

Leyre smiled, “I can walk you to Ser Loras' chambers, but I’m fairly certain he was going to the dining hall not long ago. We can check to see if he’s left yet.”

Jaime nodded, and Leyre led him into a maze of corridors that Jaime knew well. They had hardly changed since the time he had wandered these same floors as a member of the King’s Guard. He had spent far too much time standing outside the royal apartments as kings took their pleasure, often at others’ expense. He was grateful those days were past. He wondered if Daenerys expected Ser Barristan or Ser Jorah to stand outside to wait upon her every whim these days, or if Tyrion was expected to be at her service constantly.

“I was glad to see Ser Loras return safely to the Red Keep,” Leyre said, “I understand he will also be going back to the north to fight the Others again.”

“We will all be traveling together,” Jaime said, “I hope the battle has not been hopelessly lost while we dally here. I was also relieved that Ser Loras survived his burning at Dragonstone; he was the only Kingsguard left that was worth a damn. It will be good to fight next to him again.”

“He has seemed more…cheered of late,” said Leyre tentatively, “after he lost his good friend Lord Renly he seemed rather lost.”

“It is hard to lose someone you love,” Jaime said absently as they halted outside Loras’ chambers, “Renly’s death affected more than Loras, but his loss was the greatest.” Jaime thought of Brienne, who not only lost the man she had developed her first infatuation on, but blamed herself for not saving him from an enemy that could not be seen or defeated. Being accused of being a kingslayer when she had only wanted to serve and protect the man must have galled her when she had been charged to escort Jaime, a true kingslayer, to safety.

Leyre nodded, appreciating Jaime’s words in support of Loras. He knocked on his door, but did not receive an answer. 

“Are you familiar with Ser Dwayne of Lorath?” he asked Jaime.

“I’ve met him,” Jaime said, thinking sourly of the tall young man who was entirely too flirtatious with his Brienne, “why do you ask?”

“I understand that he is thinking of joining the army traveling to the Wall, Ser. He is a guest of her Grace, and not expected to risk himself so, especially as heir to the Lorath silver fortune. I found it interesting that he would make such a decision, but it seems he has become fast friends with some of the other fighters, and wishes to distinguish himself in the war among them.”

_Why is he telling me this_? Thought Jaime, _Is he warning me that this Ser Dryp has his eye on Brienne and is joining the unit to be near her_? _Did he say ‘fighters’ rather than ‘knights’ because Brienne is not yet a knight_? 

“It is a dangerous battle we join, Lord Leyre. Lady Brienne and I have seen things that would give you nightmares for the rest of your days. If I were the heir of Lorath I would get home to my safe little island as quickly as a boat could carry me.” Jaime said, his jealousy making his words seem petty even to him.

“I’m sure his lord father would agree, Ser,” Leyre said mildly, “but you know how young men looking for glory are.”

“That I do, Lord Leyre.” Jaime said with a grim smile, thinking about what had motivated him to join the Kingsguard in the first place; the glory, yes, but mostly he had only wanted to be near Cersei.  Love was a powerful motivator. “Thank you for your help. I think that I will go look for Loras in the dining hall to ask if he’s seen my Lady.”

**Tyrion**

By the time Tyrion got to the tower of Traitor’s walk his legs were aching from pushing through the deep snow. Thank the gods he would be riding a horse on the trek to the wall. He began to envy Brienne the chance to ride dragonback someday.

There was a tapestry being used as a boot scraper just inside the tower, and Tyrion looked at it curiously. It appeared to be a hunting scene featuring the late king in all his portly glory, obviously created long before his last hunt, the one where the boar won. Daenerys had been cleaning out all of the old tapestries that had been made since the reign of Robert Baratheon. Most of them were going to be used on floors like this one was, but some, he knew, were being re-worked by skilled artisans into new scenes. He was sometimes confused about whether Dany had an interesting sense of humor or just a vindictive streak a league wide. 

Tyrion looked up the steep steps to Traitor’s Walk and groaned. Going up the stairs would be bad enough, but coming back down was even harder on his knees and his thighs already burned from traipsing through the snow. It would only be worth it if he found Jaime and managed to head off a Brienne-related disaster. 

He started up, lamenting the lack of a handrail and feeling old way before his time. Next he’d be wanting a warming stone for his feet. Oh, right, he had MauMau for that.

He arrived at the top of the stairs and realized he had no idea which room was Jaime’s.  He chose the first door he came to and closed it again quickly when a paunchy man with scads of white pubic hair surrounding a pale, shriveled cock turned from the window to stare at him. Not that room, then.

The second room was mercifully empty. It could have been Jaime’s if he’d moved all of his stuff out, but Tyrion didn’t think so. The third room turned out to be Jaime’s room. His Silver Army cloak hung on a peg and there were a couple of saddle bags stacked against the wall. Someone had recently swept the snow from the bed to sit down. It looked like Jaime had been here recently and was now gone. Fuck.

Tyrion feared that the more time passed the less the chance of undoing Cersei’s damage. He needed to find out from Jaime what had really happened. _If_ he was innocent, as Tyrion suspected, Jaime needed to find Brienne before she did anything stupid with Ser Dwayne, or appeared to. He really didn’t think that upset as she was she would betray Jaime. But she _had_ been horribly drunk; he’d certainly done his share of regrettable things after too much drink.  Some of the more bawdy tales told about him had more truth to them than even he liked to admit. Though honestly, the one about the sheep was complete fabrication. He hoped.

The next place to look seemed to be the dining hall. Or maybe he should try to find the trio and play chaperone himself. He was surprised at how much he had come to look forward to seeing his brother happily wed; he didn’t want to see what losing Brienne would do to him.

**Jaime**

The dining hall was bustling when Jaime arrived. Full dinner service meant that the show was in full swing, with the stuffed dragon and sheep pulled along on their tracks twice an hour and Rufus appearing about to gag over the diners below him. The large ceramic egg that men had installed earlier proved to have a purpose as well; the top of it lifted on a hinge and charcoal burned beneath a metal grill in the lower portion. A servant was tending to what appeared to be chicken wings, occasionally brushing them with a sticky looking sauce or turning them with tongs. 

Jaime scanned the room for any sign of Brienne or Loras or Tyrion. None of them were there. The frustration and worry were beginning to take their toll on his nerves. He needed to know what had happened in Brienne’s meeting with the queen, and he wanted to be near her to rid himself of the lingering disgust over what had happened with Cersei. 

He wondered if he should tell Brienne about what had happened, but he could hardly put words to it in his own mind. He could say, ' _Oh, by the way, I ran into Cersei in the hall and told her to leave us alone. Then I went into her room because she needed to tell me about a plot to harm Tommen, but instead she started to undress me, so I got out of there as fast as I could. She followed me though, and grabbed my cock before I could stop her_ …

Jaime decided he needed a drink, so he walked to the farthest table. He sat down facing the door to watch for Brienne. He didn’t want to hide what had happened with Cersei from Brienne, but he didn’t want to alarm her, either. He hoped that knocking Cersei to the ground had been enough to deter her, but she’d only gotten angrier, much as she had gotten the last time he’d turned her down. That had been in the White Sword Tower, when she had offered to suck his cock to convince him to kill Tyrion. Gods, he had still wanted her then, but he had refused to defile the tower or kill his own brother. Jaime had rescued him instead, and until today that had been the last time Cersei had touched him.

A woman came to ask what he would like. He looked up at the servant, a pleasant looking woman of about middle age, her gray-streaked ginger hair rolled into a neat bun at the back of her head. Jaime knew he hadn’t seen her here before, yet she seemed vaguely familiar.  

“Rum, if you have it.” Jaime said, distractedly scanning the room in case he had missed the people he was looking for. The queen was at her usual table under Rufus, laughing with some of her Dothraki subjects. _Where in the seven hells was Brienne then_? The servant was still standing by his side, and he realized she was waiting for an answer from him about something.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, “I was distracted.”

“I just asked if you might like some of the new Dragon Wings we’re serving tonight,” she said with a dimpled smile, “There’s not much meat on ‘em, but the honey and ale they brush on sure make them tasty.”

“Dragon wings?” Jaime said, a little wearily, “Is that what’s in the egg? Rather a disappointing hatch for a mother dragon, I should think.”

The servant grinned, “I was thinking something similar, Ser. If my own brood came out just limbs I’d be a wee tweaked about it.”

Jaime smiled up at her, “Just rum, please.” 

The woman returned soon with his rum and a cup and set it before him with a cheerful smile.

“What is your name, my lady?” he asked, pouring the rum and downing it one gulp, enjoying the way it seared down his throat.

“Jenna, if you please, Ser.”

“I’m Jaime Lannister,” he told her, “Are you new here, Jenna?”

“I am, Ser, I’ve just come from up Ashtree way with my family. We used to run an inn there, but the cold has driven us south.”

“Let us all hope this winter ends soon.” Jaime said consolingly, “Have you been in here all evening, Jenna?”

“Aye, Ser Jaime, since this afternoon.”

“Have you by any chance seen a very tall blond woman, probably dressed in blue? Astonishing eyes, bit of a scar on one cheek?”

“Oh! I have, Ser, she was at this same table earlier tonight.”

“She was?” Jaime asked in consternation. _Why in the seven hells would she come here first_? “Was she by herself?”

“Och, she was at first, poor lamb. Crying her eyes out, she was. Went through two flagons of wine before she switched to rum. I always say start with rum; mix ‘em and you’re just asking to vomit on your boots.”

“She was crying?” Jaime asked, his heart clenching in his chest.

“Man troubles was what did it, Ser. But then her young man showed up and they seemed to make up.”

“Her ‘young man’?” Jaime asked, hoping Jenna would describe Loras. 

“Yes, Ser. I particularly took note, because one does not often see such a very tall lady, much less a man ever taller than her. Good looking lad, too, Ser, with his thick auburn hair. Ordered more rum for the both of them.”

Jaime felt like he was falling. He poured and drank another cup of the rum. 

“But before I knew it, another young man joined her. This one was also very comely, though not so tall. Both men seemed quite enamored of the lady, for all her nose was red from crying, and by then she was nearly too drunk to stand.”

“Thank you, Jenna,” Jaime said faintly.

“Do you also know the lady well?” Jenna asked curiously.

“Yes, Jenna, I know her very well.” Jaime said, thinking, _better than anyone, I thought_.

“Are you a relative then? An uncle maybe?”

_Ouch_. Jaime shook his head, feeling terribly old on top of betrayed.

“I just remembered me that the lady left something here when she and the tall fellow staggered out of here.”

“She left alone with the tall one?” Jaime managed to ask, feeling the nightmare deepen.

“No, the shorter one followed, but the tall one, the one she’d been crying over, he nearly had to carry the lady out she’d drunk so much. Looked like he’d take real good care of her,” Jenna said, and then winked. 

“What did the lady leave here?” Jaime asked around the lump in his throat.

“Funny thing, that, Ser. It was a leather rose. I saved it in my apron pocket here, in case she came looking for it later.” She pulled out the rose, its singed petals and green stem darkened with wine stains.

“I’ll take it, Jenna, and make sure she gets it back…if she still wants it.” 

Jenna handed him the rose, and he tucked it into his boot, feeling sick. “The lady’s name is Brienne. Brienne of Tarth.” He told her, “In case you see her again. She is…a very great warrior.” 

“I’ll remember, Ser. Can I bring you anything else? More rum? Sure you don’t want some of those yummy Dragon Wings? You do look a little ill, now that I think of it.”

“No, Jenna, but thank you.” Jaime said, hoisting himself up from the table. His legs felt as leaden as his heart, “I’ve just remembered somewhere I need to be.”

“A good evening to you then, Ser. If you come back later we’ll be serving those wiggly horse hearts for dessert again. They was a big hit last night.”

Jaime made his way out of the dining hall in a daze. He glanced at the queen’s table, suddenly wishing that Brienne’s absence had been caused by the queen after all. He stood out in the corridor, feeling lost. He started walking in one direction, but then stopped and walked a few steps in the other. He stopped again and bowed his head, trying to think, trying _not_ to feel. 

It was impossible. He felt like he could barely breath, the emotions churning through him as intense as any he’d felt since the Quiet Isle, when he’d faced losing Brienne for the first time. Her life wasn't in danger now, so why did this feel so similar? 

Jaime wondered if he had done something to drive her away. He knew he was demanding, occasionally grumpy, he snored and he was old enough to be her uncle. Had he pressed her into a declaration of her feelings before she was ready? She did feel the same way he did, didn’t she? He felt on the knife edge of panic, doubt gnawing at him. Had he pushed her into being more intimate with him than she was comfortable with? Even their awkward explorations had seemed so right at the time, overdue, really. But they had gone from holding hands to nearly everything, except actually fucking, so quickly. The incredible sweetness of watching her come for him, because of him, flashed through his mind. 

Had she wanted to leave before it went too far, before he could take her maidenhead? Had she suspected he wanted to marry her and wanted to go before she was forced to refuse him? Or did she just want to continue the way they had been: friends, comrades in arms, each other’s protector. Each other’s _everything_ , he had thought. _She is everything to me_.

She never had denied that he had to worry about Dwayne courting her, now that he thought about it. When he’d asked if he should be worried, she’d said ‘ _I don’t know about that, Jaime. I haven’t even sparred with him yet,’ the_ young knight could offer her more than he could: land, youth, exceedingly tall children, if she wanted that. Had he been courting her all the while Jaime had been imprisoned awaiting his trial?

_But she loves me_ , Jaime thought, _I couldn’t be that wrong, could I_? All of their drunken kisses and embraces…

_Oh, Gods, even if this Dryp hasn’t won her, she’s drunk_ , Jaime thought, _What if he kisses her and she kisses him back_? He knew how much restraint it had taken not to push for things to go further with Brienne when she was in his arms, feeling her warm, sinuous body against him, her lips and tongue making him burn…

Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_.  He had to find her. He had to know what all of this meant. What if she had only been upset about whatever the queen had demanded and decided to have a drink before she told him? No, she would have come to him first if that was it. 

He hoped Loras was with them still. Loras wouldn’t let things get too far, would he? Maybe if he found Loras he would find Brienne.

**Tyrion**

Tyrion left Traitor’s walk and made his way across the outer yard, cursing and panting. Maybe he should try the dining hall for Jaime. But no, the Dany was likely to be there, and just now he was not in a pleasant enough mood to amuse the young queen and her cohorts. Why would Jaime go to the dining hall anyway?

He would go to the holdfast, that was it. He could ask the steward if he’d seen any of them. That man knew more about people’s dealings than Varys.  Then he could check to make sure they weren’t in Loras’ or Dwayne’s rooms. Gods, let her not be in Dwayne’s room. That would affect Jaime nearly as badly as Brienne had been affected believing he’d fucked Cersei. He didn’t think Jaime was the man to stand in Brienne’s way if she wanted to leave him, and if he didn’t know why Brienne had run…

Such a mess. 

Maybe he should check the Maidenvault again? It was much closer, and for all he knew the two of them were already back in each other’s arms, all misunderstandings forgotten.

**Jaime**

Finally having a plan, Jaime practically ran out of the building. He’d stop at the Maidenvault first, just in case. He had very little expectation of finding Brienne there, though.

He charged through the door, pausing only briefly by Helyn, who squinted at him and said “Haven’t seen her, same as I told the other brother,” before he ran back down the hall and burst into their room. Nothing. 

He left just as quickly, not pausing by Helyn until her heard her call out, “Half man’s been looking for you, Ser!” He skidded to a stop and went back to her.

“Tyrion?” he asked, breathless.

“Who?” 

“Tyrion, my little brother! The half man? The imp? Small man with a big attitude?”

“No, Ser, but this one looked just like him. Said he was looking for you. Or maybe he was looking for that other knight, the old queen’s brother.”

Jaime held his breath and counted backwards from seven until he could be polite. “Did the half man say what he wanted?”

“I think he wanted to see a man about a horse? No, that wasn’t it. That was me. Think he was just looking for someone like you.” The old woman said with finality.

Jaime frowned and continued on his way. If Tyrion were looking for him maybe he had some news of Brienne. If it _was_ Tyrion and not some other half man. But no, Cersei had pretty well had all dwarves in Westeros dead or in hiding after putting a price on Tyrion’s head for killing their father. Hopefully Tyrion was in the holdfast as well as Loras, and one of them could direct him to Brienne, or tell him what was going on.

Jaime was glad to have something physical to do; he knew if he stood still too long the doubt and worry would eventually take their toll.

For the second time that evening Jaime launched himself up the serpentine steps and across the dry moat, trying not to wish Dwayne’s was one of the heads up there getting snowed on. 

He had forgotten to find out which chamber was Tyrion’s earlier, so he stalked rabidly down the hall to the chamber Lord Leyre had said belonged to Loras. He ran his hand through his hair, took a steadying breath, and knocked loudly.

There was no answer. He rattled the latch and found the door unlocked, so he peered inside. He could see that the bed had not been slept in, even though by now it was quite late. He closed the door and turned around to find himself nose to nose with Leyre. He was so startled he yelped and reached for his non-existent sword.

Leyre smirked at him. Sneaking up on people was a skill he had perfected over the years. This was far from the first time he had made Jaime’s heart nearly burst with fear. The first time Jaime had only been about four, and he’d retaliated by kicking the man soundly in the shin. He wanted to do that again.

“Looking for Ser Loras?” the steward said, raising an eyebrow serenely. 

“Or Tyrion,” Jaime said, “Or Dwayne. But most especially for Brienne. Have you seen any of them?”

“I have, Ser.”

“Well?!? _Where are they_?” Jaime asked, no longer able to contain his anxiety.

“I don’t know Lord Tyrion’s whereabouts, Ser, but the other three came in quite a while ago. Not that long after you were here, in fact.”

“Did you talk to them, Lord Leyre? Did you tell the lady I was looking for her?” Jaime asked, frustrated at having almost crossed paths with them.

“I spoke briefly to Loras, Ser; he was the only one sober enough to communicate.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaime muttered, “and Lady Brienne? Was she okay?”

“She looked like someone who was about to be sick, Ser. I sent an extra bowl to the room for them, just in case.”

“Can you tell me where they are now?”

“I could Ser, but I’m not sure you would be happy once you got there.”

“Just. Tell. Me.” He said slowly, weighting each word with a hint of violence.

“They all went into Ser Dwayne’s room. There was quite a bit of noise in there at first, but it’s been quiet for a while now.”

Jaime tried to brace himself, “ _What kind of noise_?”

“Crashing, Ser, things being knocked over. Drunk noises. Some retching.”

Jaime tried to feel relieved that it hadn’t been the wild sounds of three people fucking, but what Leyre said didn’t necessarily mean that wasn't the case.

“Can you show me to Ser Dry…I mean, Ser Dwayne’s room?”

“If you’re certain, Ser.”

Jaime nodded and the steward led him back past Ser Loras’ room to another room in the same corridor. 

“Thank you, Lord Leyre. I would appreciate it if you would leave me here to deal with this.”

“As you wish,” the man said, and walked rapidly back the way they had come. When he was out of sight Jaime took a deep breath. He didn’t know what he would find on the other side of that door, but he was quite sure he wasn't going to like it.

He rapped on the door with his knuckles, flinching a little since he had forgotten he’d bruised them slamming his fist into a wall earlier.

There was no answer.

He knocked harder and waited. Eventually he heard some movement and someone cursing in a low voice. He waited what seemed like a long time, but was probably less than a minute.

Loras cracked open the door and peered at him through sleep-swollen eyes. As the realization of who he was looking at registered his eyes opened wider. He quickly glanced into the room behind him and tried to squeeze out the door to talk to Jaime. Jaime put a hand on his chest and pushed him gently back inside, following him in.

The room was dimly lit; the fire in the hearth mere embers and only a few candles still burning. It was enough to see the large, canopied bed.

It was enough to see Brienne, asleep on one side of it, dressed in a tunic he had never seen before. On the other side, Ser Dwayne lay sprawled on his back asleep, dressed only in breeches. Jaime looked at Loras and saw that he, at least, was fully dressed. 

Jaime had expected to feel rage, but as a great weight of sadness settled over his shoulders he knew he was to be denied even that to ease his torment. Seeing his Brienne sleeping next to another man hit him as hard as a lance to the chest. He saw that Loras was watching him, seeing the raw hurt in his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“She said you were fucking Cersei again,” Loras said quietly, expectantly.

Jaime looked sharply at him. “I’m not,” he said, taking a ragged breath.

“Then what did she see?” Loras asked, a surprisingly hopeful look on his face.

“I’ll tell you what she didn’t see: she didn’t see me knock Cersei on her arse there in the hall for sticking that foul claw of hers down my breeches.”

“You were in her room,” Loras said.

“I was stupid. I let Cersei convince me she needed to talk to me about Tommen.” Jaime continued to stare at Brienne, his eyes pricking with tears he wouldn’t shed. Not here, anyway. Finding out why Brienne hadn’t come home was something, and being able to tell his side to Loras was a relief. None of it meant things would ever be the same between them again. 

Loras nodded, “They’re just friends,” He said, gesturing toward the bed with his chin, “Brienne was upset. We were all convinced that you had gone back to Cersei.”

Jaime let his shoulders slump. He could think of nothing to say; there was nothing he wanted to hear. His wench was asleep in another mans bed while wearing that man’s tunic. No one had willfully assaulted _her_ and then accused her of betrayal. 

“Should I wake her up?” Loras asked, “Likely she’s still quite drunk, though.”

“No,” Jaime said softly, “Let her sleep. Tell her…tell her I came looking for her, when she wakes up.”

Jaime turned and left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are my Dothraki souvenir bell, my wiggly horse heart, my honey-coated dragon wings. They are _not_ my gaoler's ear beans or anyone's scads of white pubic hair.  
>  Did I make you laugh? Did I make you cry? Come type in my ear, sweet readers.


	21. Jaime & Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dwayne and I half dragged, half carried you here from the stables. Dwayne was pretty drunk as well, and both of you kept getting tangled and falling. It seemed a very long walk. You owe me, by the way, for getting your arse up those ridiculous serpentine steps. What a nightmare!" said Loras.
> 
>  
> 
> _In which Jaime and Brienne face their actions of the night before._

**Jaime**

Jaime was nearly to the end of the long hallway when he heard the sound of running from a different corridor. 

“Jaime!” Tyrion called out, gasping for breath, “Thank the gods I’ve found you!” Tyrion stopped in front of Jaime and put his hands on his knees, wheezing. 

“Tyrion, what in the sev–“ Jaime started to say, but Tyrion held up a finger, asking for him to wait. He spent several minutes catching his breath and Jaime began to pace, anxious to be away from the Holdfast as soon as possible. 

Eventually Tyrion stood up straight, though he was still a bit winded. 

“Jaime, do you know where Lady Brienne is?”

“She’s in Ser Dwayne’s chambers.”

Tyrion muttered a few choice words under his breath before saying to Jaime. “I need to speak to you, brother, before you see Brienne.”

“I’ve already seen her,” Jaime said dully.

“Gods, what did she say? Is she still drunk?” Tyrion asked.

“I didn’t talk to her. She was asleep. “ 

“I can see by the look on your face you didn’t like what you saw,” Tyrion said, “Let’s find a bench to sit on, before I collapse.” He led them a short distance down the corridor he’d come from to a shallow alcove with a padded bench set in it. 

“So you saw her,” Tyrion prompted.

“She was asleep in Ser Dwayne’s chambers. In his bed with him.” Jaime said, “Loras was there, too. He answered the door.”

“Did it look like anything happened?”

"I don’t know. She was wearing his tunic, but with Loras there…I hope not.”

“Do you know what _Brienne_ saw earlier?”

“Loras told me,” Jaime said grimly. 

“So you’re aware of how all this started. She saw you with Cersei, who was apparently giving your cock a friendly hand shake.”

“Gods, _you_ don’t believe I asked for Cersei to worm her hand into my breeches?”

“Did you?”

“Tyrion! No. I knocked her on her arse as soon as she grabbed me.”

“Brienne didn’t see that,” Tyrion said, “she saw you coming out of Cersei’s chamber, half undressed.”

“I was not half undressed!” Jaime protested, “Cersei tried to unlace my jerkin, she pulled the tie on my breeches…”

“That sounds pretty damning to me,” said Tyrion drily, “Brienne was convinced you’d been in there fucking our sweet sister.” 

“So Loras said.” Jaime tried to picture the scene from Brienne’s perspective, and it didn’t look good. It looked worse than what he’d just seen. “I wish Brienne had said something, or _done_ something, Tyrion. If I had come upon her like that I would have come to _her_ defense.”

“Would you? If you saw her come out of Ser Dwayne’s room right now and he put his hand up her skirt – sorry, down her breeches, would you stop it?”

“Of course I would!” 

“What if she wasn’t struggling and you were already worried that something was going on between them?”

Jaime shrugged, irritated, “Put like that, I’m not sure what I’d do.” 

“How did you feel when you saw her just now?” Tyrion asked, looking at Jaime expectantly.

“Before Loras told me what happened I felt like I’d walked into a melee unarmed and wrong-handed. Now that I know?  Like someone handed me a shield _after_ the melee ended.”

“I’m sorry, Jaime.”

"When she didn’t come home and I found out she was out there, drunk with Dwayne, I thought she was leaving me for him. I was ready to fight for her, even though I throw a pretty lousy punch with my left hand – ask the wall in Brienne’s chamber.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know about ‘now,’ Tyrion. I just know I love her, and I hope she’ll realize it when she’s sobered up. If she feels anywhere near as awful as I do after seeing her in bed with another man…seven hells, Tyrion, _she was wearing his tunic and he wasn't_! But if she still wants me, even if something happened in that room, I still…” Jaime stopped and put his head in his hand. 

Tyrion patted his shoulder consolingly, “You still…?” he prompted.

“I still want her with me, forever. Gods, Tyrion, this night just got worse and worse, and now it just _feels_ worse and worse.”

“Tell me about it,” Tyrion said, leaning back against the wall and stretching his legs out, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. After I encountered the Troublesome Trio I tried to find you so that you could tell Brienne the truth and take her home.”

“So you _didn’t_ believe I fucked Cersei.”

“ _Mostly_ I didn’t.”

“Thanks,” Jaime said wryly, “and thanks for trying to find me. Where did you look?”

“The Maidenvault, Traitor’s Walk – don’t ever open the door to the first room up there, by the way – “

“You met Lord Branson, then,” Jaime almost smiled.

“And his fuzzy little cock,” Tyrion said distastefully, “what crime is he even in for, besides those against nature?”

“You know, I’ve always suspected he’s just somebody who found a convenient and free place to sleep.”

“Not as dumb as he looks, then,” Tyrion said. “Maybe we should fix him up with that Helyn woman in the Maidenvault.”

“She’s been doing the deed with a Dothraki,” Jaime said, “She’d never settle for Branson.”

“She’s… _what_?”

“Yes, one of my guards, Hemikh, gave himself up as a distraction for me when I still thought I needed to sneak in. Pretty sure it wasn't the last time for them. Don’t let her find out about your over-sized sword or she might take a liking to you.”

“I suppose then maybe she would remember me, at least.” Tyrion said, “That woman really is a few spikes short of a morning star.”

Jaime laughed.

“There’s my boy,” Tyrion said, “I’m sure we can set things to rights with your girl. What’s your plan?”

“Plan?” Jaime asked, his laughter dying as he thought of Brienne sleeping just down the corridor. _At least there was a lot of space between them_ , he remembered. “I think to start I’m going to go to bed, but not back in the Maidenvault, not in her room. I’ll go sleep in my room in Traitor’s Walk tonight.”

Tyrion shivered, “A comfortless place,” he remarked.

“Yes, but when Brienne returns to her room she might not want to see me. I’d as soon give her a chance to decide if and when she wants to. Do you think once Loras explains that she’ll still be upset?”

“I don’t know, Jaime,” Tyrion said, “how about you: are you angry?”

“I’m angry at Cersei. No, I’m more than angry at Cersei; she better stay out of my sight - forever. Brienne…I don’t know what happened between her and Ser Dwayne,” Jaime looked at the ceiling, trying to get control of the emotion in his voice. “I’ll get over whatever happened. I sent ravens to Tarth this afternoon, Tyr. No, whatever happens, I’m not letting her walk away from what we have.”

You’re a good man,” Tyrion said.

Jaime shrugged, “I’m alright.”

“So, time for bed, then?” Tyrion said and yawned.

“Yes, off to get my things out of the Maidenvault and go enjoy my luxurious quarters in Traitor’s Walk. I don’t suppose you want to tell me now what the queen wants of Brienne?”

“And rob you of the many, many things you two need to talk about? No. Sleep well.”

Tyrion got off the bench and hugged Jaime where he sat. Jaime held him tight for a moment and then gave him a little shove. Tyrion chuckled and walked away.

Jaime made his way out of the holdfast and into the yard, where the snow was falling again, silent and gentle. He made the short slog to the Maidenvault. The chair by the doors stood empty. In Brienne’s chambers the fire in the hearth had gone out and the candles he had left burning flickered deep down in their wax shells.

Jaime found some parchment and a quill in a small writing table and sat down to compose a note.  He sat for several minutes tapping the end of the quill against his teeth.  He seldom wrote, and his penmanship was little improved from the time when he first lost his hand, but Brienne knew his writing and would understand its lack of beauty:

_My Dearest Brienne,_

_I will be in Traitor’s Walk._

_I love you._

_Jaime_

He hoped Brienne would read into those few sentences what he really wanted to say: ‘ _Please come to me in Traitor’s Walk and tell me you still love me_. _Come so I can tell you that I love you_.’  

Jaime took the letter and set it on the bed, then bent and took the stained rose out of his boot and placed it across the top. He lit a fresh candle and set it on the bedside table so there might be light whenever Brienne came in in the morning. He blew out the other candles, watching as the wisps of fragrant smoke twisted out of them and dispersed.  

Melancholy settled over Jaime as he scooped up his saddle bag and hung it over his shoulder.  One last look at the room they had only the one night and one morning together in, and then he was shutting the door behind him.

**Brienne**

Brienne awoke and found herself in a strange bed. She lay still a moment, her wide eyes trying to form shapes out of the darkness. She didn’t recognize anything. Someone was beside her. Jaime? No, not Jaime. She would know his silhouette on the darkest of nights. They could always sense each other in darkness; it had become something of a survival skill.

As she began to make out different levels of shadow she saw that the figure beside her, a man, had curly hair. Loras. She sat up and stared at him in the dark. Faint glimmers of the night began to pulsate in her aching head. She tried to catch bits of them as they floated by, but everything was a jumble. 

Brienne took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. The first thing she thought of was Jaime. _Where’s Jaime_? Then the images came swarming back to her and she remembered retreating after seeing Cersei and Jaime in the hall. The anguish she had felt also rushed back and she gasped at the strength of it. She remembered going to the dining hall and ordering wine; she hadn’t eaten and the wine spread through her blood quickly. The images that followed were indistinct, but still gave her an idea of what had happened. The wine, the tears, the servant looming over her, the rum…the memories became less clear, less orderly. Dwayne, more rum, more tears, Loras, Loras stroking her hair, the servant laughing. ‘ _Jaime’s fucking Cersei’_ , an echo running through and permeating each scene. Then Dwayne holding her up, the two of them staggering out, Tyrion, Loras again, the unending echo of betrayal. She and Dwayne falling into a heap of snow, laughing, making snow septas. _Did they really_? It was all starting to seem unreal and Brienne wondered which parts happened and which she might have dreamed while she slept. The stables, Sean, Ser Fluffy, _fuck-head_ , _so tired_ , _Sean open the latch, please Sean, I’m so tired_ …

Then they were in the Holdfast, staggering, her arms slung over Dwayne and Loras’ shoulders as she tried to walk. Scary old man smiling at Loras, talking, Dwayne almost falling over and unbalancing her. Did they fall down? Suddenly she wondered not if they’d fallen, but how many times. Loras looking exhausted, his lips pursed in frustration. This room. A bowl with dragons formed in silver. _Don’t ge_ t _too close to the dragons_ …jerking back and missing the dragons…and the bowl.

Brienne plucked at the tunic she was wearing, certain it would smell of vomit. It smelled a little of sweat. Not her sweat. Not her tunic, after all. She could still smell vomit somewhere. 

“Loras!” she whispered, nudging his shoulder. 

“Mmm,” he said and rolled over so his back was to her. 

She gave him a harder nudge and then noticed Dwayne on the other side, his long legs flung apart and seeming to cover the entire bed.

“Loras! Wake up!” she hissed, tugging at his hair.

“Ow!” he groaned and sat up. “I’m awake! Why did you pull my hair?” he took a second to let his eyes adjust in the dark, “How do you feel? Are you going to be sick again? Do you need the bowl?”

Brienne flushed with embarrassment. She had the feeling this night would haunt her for a while. “What happened?” she said quietly, “Why am I here?”

“Hang on,” Loras said, and scooted down the middle of the bed to get off the end. He picked up a candle and a taper and took them over to the fireplace. He stuck the taper in the embers and then got the candle going. In the golden light Brienne could see Dwayne was shirtless, his broad chest moving with his measured breathing. So, she was probably wearing his tunic.

Loras set the candle on the table by Brienne’s side of the bed and then sat down beside her.

“Sweetling, it might be easier if you tell me what you _do_ remember, and I’ll fill in the blanks.”

Brienne looked at him gratefully. Her head was starting to pound fiercely and her mouth tasted like she’d eaten something her cat back home had dragged in from the garden. A dead vole, perhaps.

“Is there any water?” she asked Loras, and he picked a full cup up from the table next to her, giving her a teasing smile. She gulped most of it down at once and wished there were more. Much as she wanted to ask for some, she wanted information first.

“I saw Jaime and Cersei,” she said, not recapping _that_ scene, “I came to the Dining Hall and asked for wine. I had _a lot_ of wine.” She looked at Loras for confirmation and he nodded encouragingly. “I spilled some wine and wanted rum, and Dwayne sat down. Then things start to get confusing. Did you come in with Dwayne?”

“I came in several minutes later,” Loras told her, “On the second jar of rum. We took most of the third jar with us.”

“We saw Tyrion.”

“Tyrion was worried about you, and we told him about Jaime and Cersei.” 

Brienne flinched a little, but went on, “Did we fall in some snow?”

“You and Dwayne did, and then you made about a half dozen snow septas each.”

“Oh, I thought I had imagined that.”

“You wish. We left the hall because you got a sudden urge to commune with your horse, so we went to the stables with you.”

“I vaguely remember asking Sean to undo the latch on his gate.”

“Well, you did have quite the heart to heart with him, declared your undying love and intention to spend the night next to him…”

Brienne nudged Loras with her shoulder and he chuckled quietly. 

“You actually did announce your intention to spend the night with your horse. You were going to share his blanket, I believe.”

Brienne sighed, “Yes, Sean is generous like that. I don’t remember much of anything after the stables. We were in a hallway, talking to a very serious old man, and then something about praying to the old gods and the new as I was sick in a bowl I can picture all too clearly. “

“You were calling on the gods as you wretched your guts out as I recall. Dwayne and I had half dragged, half carried you here from the stables. Dwayne was pretty drunk as well, and both of you kept getting tangled and falling. It seemed a very long walk. You owe me, by the way, for getting your arse up those ridiculous serpentine steps. What a nightmare! So we got in here, and Leyre, the steward, gave us the Grumkin Glare and told us Jaime had been there earlier, looking for you.”

“Oh.” Brienne said quietly. “And?”

“Dwayne started going on about how Jaime didn’t deserve you, and that he was a whore-brother…” 

“Whore-brother?”

“I’ll tell you another time. So Dwayne is orating, and you fell down, he fell trying to pick you up, and Lord Leyre and I stood back and gave you both the Glare.”

“Did we fall a lot, tonight?” Brienne asked.

“I would say you’re going to have quite a few good bruises, mostly from the steps. You did careen off the walls in the building quite a bit as well.”

Brienne cringed, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry for being such a bother. I’ve never had so much to drink before. I was…” she lowered her head and wiped her eyes, “I was, _am_ , upset. It really isn’t like me to tell anyone my problems except, well, except Jaime.”

“Aww, Sweetling,” Loras said, putting his hand over hers, “ _anyone_ would have been upset to see Cersei with a cock in her hand.”

If Loras expected his jape to make Brienne laugh, he was to be disappointed. She made a little strangled sound and looked away from him, blinking back tears. 

“Brienne, Jaime did come by here again a couple of hours ago looking for you. He’d been looking for you all evening.”

“What did he say?” Brienne asked, wiping her nose on her borrowed sleeve.

“I told him we thought he was fucking Cersei again, and he said he’s not. He told me he knocked Cersei on her bitch arse for, as he put it “sticking that foul claw of hers” in his breeches.  I remembered the phrase he used so I could tell you.” 

Brienne looked unconvinced, “But they came out of her room,”

“Jaime said she wanted to talk about Tommen in her room. He said he was stupid, which he was.  I think he’s telling the truth, Brienne. I think Cersei wanted you to see what she did.”

“How did he seem?”

Loras sighed, “You know those sad cow eyes he gets sometimes?” Brienne nodded, her mouth quirking up a little, “I’ve never seen his eyes so sad. He looked quite tragic. ”

“But he denies doing anything with Cersei?”

“Other than making Cersei go ‘thud’ and being stupid and too trusting? Yes.”

Brienne took a deep breath. “I don’t remember him being here. Did we talk?”

“No, sweetling, you were passed out in the bed with Dwayne the Drunk here.”

Brienne glanced over at Dwayne and frowned a little. “Jaime didn’t see me then?”

“Oh, he saw you. I almost felt sorry for him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. I offered to wake you up, but he said to let you sleep.”

“And Dwayne? Was he asleep as well?”

Loras nodded.

“Next to me?”

“This is a big bed, and before Jaime woke me up I’d been sleeping in the middle between you Dwayne. Now you can tell him you slept with two men.”

“Not funny.” Brienne said.

“You’ll laugh about this later.”

“Will Jaime?”

“Do you _want_ him to laugh about it later? I didn’t mention to him that I was in the bed, too, but a little jealousy won’t hurt him. I did tell him you and Dwayne were ‘just friends,’ because the look on his face was just killing me.”

“Do you really think nothing happened between him and Cersei?” Brienne asked, trying not to look too hopeful.

“What you told us you witnessed sounded really awful; but yes, I believe him. What’s going on with you two, anyway? Anyone seeing you together wouldn’t doubt you’re in love. Why would _you_ doubt it?”

“We only recently admitted it to each other.”

“Huh,” Loras said, “that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We had other things to deal with before. You know, finding Sansa Stark, battling the Others…”

“For two of the bravest people I know that’s a really disappointingly craven excuse.”  

“But – “

“So damaged, both of you.”

Brienne put her hand up to her scar.

“Not damaged that way. In here,” Loras said, thumping his chest. “Jaime and I weren’t always friends Brienne, but we got to know each other better after his maiming. He mentioned you a lot after he sent you on that quest. He’s not hard to read.” 

Brienne smiled shyly.

“You’re probably too good for the old cripple, but I think you should at least go hear what he has to say.”

“He’s not an old cripple!” Brienne said vehemently.

“I’m pretty sure that’s how he feels right now. Even though he knows _why_ you ran off and got drunk, you still ended up in bed with a younger man with both hands and better prospects.”

“Oh, my poor Jaime. How could he ever think I would choose anyone over him? He’s, well, he’s _Jaime_. He’s the best man I know.”

“Well, Dwayne here is quite nice, too.”

Brienne smirked at Loras.

“And he’s cute, too.” He said with a sly smile.

“Jaime’s _much_ cuter,” Brienne whispered, glancing at the sleeping giant beside them. “But he’s taken.  Have you told Dwayne how you feel yet?”

“Nah, I’m working up to it. Do you think he –?

“How could he resist you?”

“He might worry about his father, his reputation as a knight. I don’t know what it’s like on Lorath, but in Westeros men like us are still barely tolerated. Besides, I’m not sure he’s ready to admit to himself what he wants.”

“Tell you what, Loras, I’m going to go back to my room, and hopefully Jaime won’t be too upset at my sleeping with Dwayne here to talk to me. You need to cuddle up against this one while he sleeps and let things happen from there. If you’re very lucky it shouldn’t take more than a couple of years at the outside for him to realize he’s madly in love with you.”

Loras looked down at Dwayne, who responded with an open-mouthed snore and turned on his side in his sleep. Brienne raised her eyebrows at Loras and tilted her head.

“Oh, all right,” Loras laughed.

“I should go. I hate to ask, but where is my tunic?”

“I sent it to be washed. You’ll have to wear Dwayne’s for now. Jaime already saw you in it.”

“Do you know where my leather rose is?”

“No, last I saw it was in the dining hall. You were pretty vocal about hating roses, so you may have left it there to be thrown out. So, in bed with another man who's tunic you're wearing, threw out a token of his love…you’ll have plenty to explain, huh?”

Brienne looked troubled, “It’s a mess. “

“And it’s mostly Cersei’s fault,” Loras said.

“Why only _mostly_ Cersei?”

“If you had trusted Jaime, you wouldn’t have run away before you could see what happened next.”

“Next time.” Brienne said darkly.

“Next time, what?”

“Next time I’ll break that pretty little nose of hers.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

“Good night, Loras. Thank you for being such a good friend.” Brienne kissed him on the cheek.

Loras stood up with her and walked her to the door, giving her a hug before she left. 

“Good luck,” they said at the same time, and chuckled.

Brienne walked as quickly as possible on her wobbly legs. She could tell there was still quite a bit of alcohol running through her veins. Loras was right, those stairs _were_ horrible.

Brienne noticed Helyn wasn't at her post and wondered if she were with Hemikh somewhere. She wondered if the woman even had her own sleeping quarters. She must, somewhere. 

Opening the door to her own room, Brienne immediately saw that Jaime wasn’t inside. Panic stabbed through her as she went further inside and saw his saddlebag was gone, too. There was one candle burning next to the bed. By its light she saw Jaime’s note with her rose on top.

_Gods, he found  this after I lost it and left it here to reject me_. She was afraid of what the note contained and sat on the bed for several minutes holding the rose, looking at how bedraggled and stained it was through her tears. With a deep breath she unfolded the note and read what Jaime had written.

My Dearest Brienne,

I will be in Traitor’s Walk.

I love you.

Jaime

She began to cry hard, great hiccupping sobs taking her breath away. 

_I love you_.

Every line, every word, spoke to her, but  _I love you,_ written in his clumsy script, made her heart ache and soar at the same time. 

She quickly found fresh clothes, stripped off Dwayne’s tunic and scrubbed herself as thoroughly as she could of its scent at her wash basin. She scrubbed the foul taste from her mouth and teeth and drank almost the entire pitcher of water next to the basin. Once she was dressed she carefully folded Dwayne’s tunic and hid it in her drawer. She would send it back to him later. Or dispose of it; she was pretty sure Jaime wouldn’t want to see Dwayne in it again, either. 

Jaime’s letter she folded and placed in a small leather bag where she kept her few treasured possessions, most of them related to Jaime in some way. A strip of his sleeve he’d bound a small wound of hers with, a short lock of his hair wrapped with a strand of leather, other scrawled notes, though none like the one that now joined them. She hesitated over the rose, trying to decide whether to keep it with her or leave it safely in the satchel. She put it with the note and closed the clasp. 

Brienne set one of the stark swan pillows at the edge of the soft, thick blanket on the bed and folded and rolled them tightly together, securing them with her belt. She blew out the candle and left the room without a backwards glance. 

She was glad for her high boots as she pushed through the deepening snow to get to Traitor’s Walk. It seemed to take a long time to get there, but she finally stepped into the tower, over a small muddied tapestry, and up the stairs as quietly as she could. She paused outside of Jaime’s door and took a deep breath. She was nervous and shaking, but she thought of his note and took courage from that. 

Opening the door silently, she could see Jaime asleep in the uncomfortable bed with his back to the door. Brienne felt a rush of tenderness seeing his familiar form, the rise and fall of his breathing, the gleam of his flowing hair. She unstrapped her belt from the blanket and hung it on the peg along with her cloak. Moving slowly, she spread the blanket over Jaime. Finally she crawled in beside him, arranged the pillow beneath her head and slid her arm under Jaime's head. She relaxed against him, the tension flowing away as his warmth spread through her. 

Jaime turned over sleepily, facing her. “ _Brienne_ ,” he said, drawing her name out on a long exhale as he wrapped his arms around her and held her, his forehead against her neck, his lips at her collarbone. “My love,” he whispered, and she knew he was crying, just as she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've loved every bit of the discussion the last two chapters inspired. Please don't stop now! In the next chapter we will return to our regularly scheduled smut; begging for me to write faster actually works, just so you know.
> 
> Also, bonus points to those who pick up the Firefly reference.


	22. Brienne, the bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s beautiful,” Brienne said, “but wherever did he find such a large tub?”  
> “At a guess I would say this one was made to accommodate more than a couple of bathers. I don’t know what reign it’s from, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this tub was just the first course in many a royal orgy.” Jaime turned to Brienne, his eyes glinting, “We’ll put it to good use ourselves, won’t we?”
> 
> _So. Long chapter. **Lots** of smut. NSFW if you blush easily. Not just PWP, I hope. Rating change to "explicit."_

Jaime caressed Brienne’s face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. She nuzzled his palm before leaning forward to kiss the wetness on his cheek, tasting regret and relief. Gently at first, tentative and questioning, their lips met in a kiss. Jaime pulled Brienne hard against him, leaving no room for anything to come between them. Bound together so closely they could scarce tell where one ended and the other began, they slept.

Long past the time the rest of the Keep’s inhabitants were up for the day, Brienne and Jaime were still sleeping off the stress of the previous day. Outside the cell’s narrow window the wind was mild and the snow sparse, a rare break from the storm. Dark clouds still hung low over King’s Landing, leaching most of the color from the day and allowing no hint of sunlight through. 

When Brienne awoke Jaime was sharing her pillow, watching her with a smile on his face, his eyes fringed by dark lashes and heavy with sleep and desire. Brienne always found herself captivated by Jaime’s eyes, and wondered that so few people seemed to notice how beautiful they were. She supposed that in Jaime’s face his eyes must seem just another handsome feature to behold, while in her face, her eyes were often considered the _only_ charming thing. 

As Jaime gazed at her, Brienne knew something more than her eyes inspired his admiration; she loved every nuance of Jaime’s face, every expressive look, every feature she beheld. Only now was she beginning to realize that he felt the same about hers. When he studied her face like this she knew he was looking at her out of love.  
  
Jaime smiled more broadly at her, his eyes showing amusement at her shifting expressions, “What are you thinking about, Wench?” 

“I was just thinking that you love me,” Brienne said.

Jaime laughed, “No more doubts?” he asked, moving closer to brush his lips teasingly against hers.

“No. I realize now that you didn’t invite Cersei’s attentions, as horrible as it appeared.”

“I’m so sorry you had to see what Cersei did, my love." 

"You know what still bothers me? Knowing Cersei had her hand wrapped around your cock,” she said, “I trust you washed it after she touched it?”

“Washed it? I can’t say that occurred to me. We still need to have our bath, so you can help me wash off any trace of her then,” he said with a sexy smirk. 

Brienne blushed, “I look forward to it, Ser.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t swell at her touch.” Jaime said.

“You didn’t?”

“No, sweetling, I didn’t. Cersei was livid; she accused me of not being capable of it anymore,” he said, snuggling closer to Brienne, who could feel how capable _she_ was of making him aroused. 

Heat thrummed though her at the feel of his cock against her. “Mm, I’ve never noticed any difficulty,” she said, pressing herself against him and nipping his bottom lip, then pushing her tongue between his lips to taste him. Yearnings long suppressed seemed to consume her now that she was free to touch and be touched by the man she loved. Brienne urged Jaime up on top of her, hips rising against him as he settled between her legs. He kissed and nibbled his way down her neck, stopping to suckle the tender skin by her collarbone as he tried to work his hand under her tunic. Brienne slid her hands under the waist of his breeches, grasping his ass to pull him harder against her. Both fell to breathlessly exploring; wanting and eager for more as they touched and felt each other, giving in to the fervor of their desire.

“Too many _clothes_ ,” Brienne gasped, reaching for the hem of Jaime’s shirt and pulling it up, scratching her short nails along his back, feeling his muscles flex under the warm silk of his skin. Jaime braced himself on his hand, looking down at her with smoky green eyes as he positioned himself against her core; she could feel the length of him, his cock an unyielding hardness against her beneath their layers of clothes. Brienne closed her eyes and moaned, turning her head to the side as Jaime ground against her, the heat of her desire spreading through her, engulfing her. 

Jaime used his forearm to nudge her cheek, to turn her head, "Open your eyes and look at me," he said, his voice husky. 

Brienne’s heart fluttered seeing him watching her so intensely, his thick golden hair swinging down over his forehead, lips parted in a slight smile. Jaime thrust against her hard, repeating the motion again and again as she moaned and clutched the hard muscles of his arms, beginning to move with him as she learned his rhythm. Their breath was ragged and loud in the small room. The bed shifted and creaked beneath them, scraping the stone floor. 

 “ _Jaimeeee_ ,” Brienne moaned, drawing out the end of his name in a low moan. She didn’t want to wait anymore, she wanted _all_ of him, “ _My Jaime, my_ -” 

A knock sounded on the door, sounding so close in the tiny room that they froze, panting.

“Go _away_.” Jaime said loudly, glaring at the door.

“Sealed message for you, Ser, from Lord Tyrion. He said to deliver it, um, no matter what you, er, threatened.”

“Leave it outside the door,” Jaime growled, “That little twerp’s getting a bit too big for his breeches,” he muttered to Brienne.

“Yes Ser, Ser Jaime. Right outside the door. Leaving it right here.”

Brienne closed her eyes, arousal warring with alarm at the sudden intrusion. She had been so ready, so certain that this time they wouldn’t stop. She was ready to give herself to Jaime at last, to finally know what it felt like to have him moving inside of her. She put her arm over her eyes, trying not to groan in frustration as Jaime got up and stalked over to the door. He opened it a few inches and reached down for the scroll Tyrion had sent. 

“Conceited little imp,” Jaime said, holding the scroll up to show Brienne the newly designed lion sigil impressed on the red wax. “Who would have thought he’d be the last Lannister with a shred of prestige? Tywin would be so proud.”

Trying to will her own arousal to subside, Brienne saw that while Jaime’s breeches still showed evidence of his own excitement, his focus had shifted to the scroll he held. He looked over at her before he broke the seal and smirked at how obviously she was pouting. “Poor Bearenne,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “You look a little frustrated, sweetling. Be glad you don’t have to leave and find a private place to get some relief, like I’ve had to do.” 

Brienne felt herself blush; her blood had not cooled at all and she didn’t find it amusing.  
  
“ _Have_ you ever done that?” he asked curiously.

“Done what?” 

“Made yourself come. Used your hands to relieve yourself…haven’t you ever gotten so aroused that you felt you were going to burst if you didn’t do something about it?”

“Jaime…”

“Oh, I’m embarrassing you? If only you knew how many times you’ve tortured me into leaving our tent to go somewhere else and fantasize about you. I know you’ve seen cruder men do such things out in the open; did you not think I stroke my cock while thinking about you?” 

Brienne’s eyes were wide; the idea of Jaime working his hand up and down his shaft and thinking of her was so erotic that she felt her desire flare up even stronger.  

“You haven’t touched yourself and thought of me?” he asked, disappointment in his voice.

“No. I mean, yes, I have, some. But it’s not easy to find a time or place to be alone and…in a good position…for such a thing.” She looked way, embarrassed, “I’m not very good at it, either,” her septa had left her with no doubt about what a repulsive habit touching oneself _there_ was, “You seem to know more about how to touch me than I do myself,” she admitted.

Jaime grinned, enjoying the conversation thoroughly, “I don’t know how you’ve survived this long, if you’ve wanted me as long as I’ve wanted you. We have a lot of lost time to make up.”

“Loras said we were dumb _and_ craven,” Brienne said, “for not being ‘together’ sooner.”

“I don’t want to know how he knows that, but he’s probably right. Not too crazy about the idea of doing too much catching up on this bed, though.”

“I don’t think either of us wants to be near Cersei in the Maidenvault again.” 

“No,” Jaime agreed, “Though if you ever do see Cersei molesting me again I hope you’ll decide to defend my honor instead of running away.”

“I promise,” Brienne said, “if she lays a hand on you again and I’ll knock her teeth out, just like you did to Red Ronnet. Now I know what you meant by doing it for yourself rather than for me.”

Jaime laughed and sat down on the bed. Brienne curled around him like a large cat as he broke the seal on the scroll.

_Honored Brother,_

_I hope this letter finds you in better spirits than you were last night._  
  
 _After making inquiries I am told that Lady Brienne left the holdfast in the night and her bed in the Maidenvault has not been slept in. Presumably the lady is with you in your appalling room in Traitor’s Walk._

_As you are no longer under guard you will be expected to vacate that room so that it can be available to the next paunchy beggar or royal prisoner (or both) that needs it_  
  
 _I have arranged for new chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast for you and Brienne. The Lady’s possessions have already been packed up and transported. A servant will retrieve your items from Traitor’s Walk._

_Seek Lord Leyre in the Holdfast to be directed to your new rooms._

_I left you a little something in the drawer of the writing table, big brother. Just in case._

_The queen is expecting an answer to her “request” from Lady Brienne by tonight at the latest._

_Yours,_

_Tyrion_

Jaime rolled the scroll up, looking down at Brienne expectantly. She had nearly forgotten she hadn’t told him about the dragons yet. 

“Did Tyrion tell you I met with the queen?” she asked.

“He told me yesterday that you might, and Agnes said you rode out with her. What did she want from you? Tyrion said it was something dangerous.”

Brienne sat up and leaned against the wall. “Her Grace has decided she wants me to train one of her dragons to carry someone in battle,” she said.

“Train…aside from how seriously dangerous those beasts are, will that affect your going north with the rest of us?” 

“Daenerys thinks I might be able to train him before the army leaves, but if I _don’t_ try to train the dragon she threatened to separate us. Separate us _and_ make you responsible for Cersei; force you to share your tent with her.”

“Daenerys must want Cersei dead after all, then,” Jaime said, “Tyrion said she might try to use me as leverage to get you to do what she wanted, but this is mad even for her. _Fuck_. What do you get from her if you manage to train the beast and not end up being some dragon’s toasted treat?”

“If I can train him she’ll let us travel north and fight together as we always have, but later she might want me to fly Viserion in battle. The queen told me If I make an effort to train him and fail, assuming I survive, she’ll still allow me go north with you and the army.” 

“You haven’t agreed to any of this yet, have you?” 

“No, I wanted to talk to you first. I was hoping you might see something that I’m missing.”

“I see that there’s no way you’re getting mixed up with dragons, Brienne. How could the queen even think to risk your life like that? Have you met those monsters? Is that where you went yesterday? 

“I did get to meet them at the dragon pit.” Brienne said, “I got to pet Viserion, he’s the white and gold one.”

“ _Pet him_? You mean the way you pet Sean?”

“Well, yes, rather like that. He _durred_ , Jaime.”

“’Durred’?”

“It’s like a cat’s purr, but louder.”

“You do realize that to something the size of a dragon you’re just prey, like a mouse to a cat? Please tell me you aren’t starting to think they’re cute.”

“Just a little cute, maybe.” Brienne smiled, remembering about how sweet Viserion was when he durred and asked for pets, “I _know_ they’re dangerous. They’ve killed other trainers. Men. Apparently they aren’t keen on men in particular. They hate Jorah Mormont.”

“ _Everyone_ hates Jorah Mormont.”

“Poor Jorah. Maybe they should pair him up with Cersei?”

“I’ll suggest it to Tyrion. It would get them both out of everyone’s hair. If we’re lucky they’ll kill each other.” Jaime said, “Sweetling, are you actually thinking you would be able to train this creature and not die doing it?”

Brienne took a deep breath, “Viserion, really seemed to take to me. Dragons have been ridden in battle before, you know; during Aegon the Conqueror’s reign he and his sisters Visenya and Rhaenys flew dragons in battle. Just because Daenerys is incompetent doesn’t mean they can’t be trained. She admitted herself that she over-indulged them when they were little and did nothing to rein them in.”

“I know you’re good with animals, my love, but a dragon isn’t a like anything you’ve ever worked with. It wouldn’t be like getting thrown from a horse, or even kicked by one.”

“I know, Jaime. I don’t know what to tell the queen, but I don’t see a way out of it. I can’t bear for us to be parted; we need to protect each other fighting the Others.”

“I think you’re intrigued by the thought of working with this Viserion,” Jaime said, “You think you’re going to charm that over-grown lizard into doing whatever you want.”

“Just like I charmed you,” Brienne said, giving him a shy smile.

Jaime leaned over and kissed her nose, “I wouldn’t blame it for being smitten with you, but you’ve never asked to ride me into battle, either.”

“Bet you’d let me ride you if I wanted to,” Brienne said daringly.

“Wench, you can ride me all day long,” Jaime said, and she could see by the way his eyes darkened that her jape had hit its mark. Brienne relished the thought that she could have such an effect on him with just her words.  
  
“What do you think I should do, Jaime?”

“Hm, to start with, I think you should take off all of your clothes…”

Brienne shoved him. “I meant about the dragon!”

“You could ride naked,” he suggested.

“Still talking about the dragon, here.”

“Oh. Too bad.” Jaime laughed. “Maybe we can negotiate with Daenerys for something more than the privilege of fighting the Others together, as we were doing before she had me dragged back here.”

“What could we ask for?”

“For one, if you’re still working with the dragon when it’s time to leave, I have to stay here with you. I don’t want you on the road without me. I’d also need to be nearby when you work with it, to try to keep you safe. We can ask Tyrion is he has any ideas.”

“Is Tyrion on our side?”

“Yes, I’m certain he is. Speaking of which, should we go see our new chambers?”

“Yes, but I need to eat first. I’m starving.”

“Me, too, but I’m still not hungry enough for liver and lungs.”

“Me, neither.” 

“Let’s stop by the dining hall anyway, see what they have.”

They donned their cloaks, belts and boots and paused in the doorway looking at the little room for the final time. 

“We did have some fun in here,” Jaime said.

“We’ll have even more fun somewhere else,” said Brienne, tugging his belt to lead him to the stairs.

“I wonder where Hemikh and Lavakhat are, now that they don't have to guard me.”

“I’m sure we’ll see them soon. Will you miss Helyn?” asked Brienne.

“Remind me to tell you how helpful she was when I was looking for you,” said Jaime.

They left Traitor’s Walk without a backwards glance. They saw there were few other people present when they entered the dining hall. Steering clear of the table from the night before, they chose a spot still well away from other people and sat down side by side.

Jaime pulled Brienne in for a kiss, which turned into several kisses. Brienne quickly forgot to be self-conscious in public, and before long they were so absorbed in what they were doing that the servant who came over had to greet them twice.  
  
They parted reluctantly and looked up at the woman.

Jenna stood, hands on hips, looking at them with her lips pursed. Brienne blushed furiously, but Jaime began to laugh.

“Well met, Jenna,” he said, still chuckling, “I believe you’ve met my Lady, Brienne of Tarth?”

“Aye,” Jenna said, one ginger eyebrow rising all the way up into her hairline, “M’lady.”

Brienne scarcely recognized Jenna from the night before, but assumed the woman had seen her when she was getting drunk.  
  
“What can I get for you two? Rum? Wine? _Moon tea_?”

“You serve that here? _Ow!_ ” Jaime said, grimacing as Brienne stomped on his instep, “No, thank you Jenna. The lady had her fill of alcohol last night. We’d like to order something to eat.”

“Worked up an appetite, I expect,” Jenna said, not quite under her breath. “I’ll have to cook something for you myself since the regular cook’s off duty just now. I’m not quite sure how to cook them pigs’ feet, though, if you’re wanting those.”

“What a shame,” Jaime said, nudging Brienne, who was still hanging her head in embarrassment. “When you had your own inn, Jenna, what did you like to cook?”

“We served a lot of goat, Ser, but they’ve none in these kitchens. I could make you up some biscuits with thick pork sausage gravy, and I think I saw some fresh eggs come in. They put ‘em to the back so we use up the old ones first, but I like cooking with the fresh ones better. I nearly gagged the first day I was here, Ser, the smell was that bad. You think they’d know better than to let a chick half develop in the kitchen’s heat and then try to cook it a fortnight later. It was all kinda soupy and slimy-like.”

Jaime noticed that Brienne’s blush was becoming a slight green tinge as Jenna talked. “Biscuits and fresh eggs would be just the thing, my lady,” he said hastily. 

“And how would you like those eggs cooked, Ser Jaime?”

“Sweetling?” Jaime asked Brienne.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jaime-bear,” she answered, a flicker in her eyes that might have been amusement, “can my Big Boo choose for us?”

“ _Big Boo_? Who’s…? Oh! Me, right. Scrambled, please.”

Jenna had narrowed her eyes at them, beginning to sense there was something more going on than she already suspected.

“As you wish. I’ll have those to you soon.” She headed for the kitchen, shaking her head.

“What was that all about?” Brienne hissed.

“When I came in here last night I happened to sit at the same table you’d been at earlier. When Jenna came over I asked her if she’d seen you, and she told me you were in here drinking and crying because of ‘man trouble,’”

“Oh.” 

“Yes, and then she said your ‘man’ came in and made it all better. She described Ser Dwayne.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and then she described Loras, and mentioned that Dryp – er, I mean, Dwayne, almost carried you out of here. But that wasn't the worst part.”

“Gods, there’s more?”

“When I told her I knew you, she asked if I was a relative, like an uncle or something.”

Brienne laughed, “Oh, Jaime, surely not!”

“Yes. And now she sees you here, kissing the old man that was looking for you, and the other two are nowhere to be seen.”

“So I look like a trollop and you seem an old lecher. Well done, us.” Brienne leaned over and kissed him, a long, lingering kiss that she hoped would soothe his wounded pride. 

“You’re not helping that bad reputation you’re getting, you know,” Jaime said when she stopped, “but I’m quite enjoying being the reason for it.”

“ _Most_ of it, anyway,” she grinned. “How are you feeling about what happened last night, before I came to your room?” 

Jaime’s smile wavered, “Wench, it really was awful seeing you in another man’s bed, even though I knew what drove you there.”  
  
Brienne knew he didn’t want to ask her if anything happened in Dwayne’s room, even though he desperately wanted her assurance that nothing had. Guilt flooded her for not telling him earlier that he worried over nothing.

“You need never doubt me, Jaime. Loras slept in the middle and _nothing_ happened in that bed while I was there. After I left, who knows?” She reached out and pushed a lock of hair back from his forehead, “I’m grateful to them for looking out for me, though. Did Loras tell you I got sick? That’s why I was wearing Dwayne’s tunic.”

“No, he didn’t mention that. How did they get you into his tunic?”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Brienne admitted, “but I’m sure it was all _very_ proper.”

“So, Loras and Dwayne, they’re together?”  
  
“Not yet, but Loras was hoping.”

Jaime nodded, looking relieved, “I’ll be happy for Loras if it works out. Does Dwayne seem to be, uh, his type?”

“I’ve rather thought so. My sense about that sort of thing is sharper since I found out about Renly and Loras. Ser Dwayne’s not obvious, but I have noticed him looking over our fair Loras often enough.” 

“It would be good for Loras, to fall in love again.” Jaime said.

"It would,” Brienne agreed. “Oh, good, here comes our food.”

Jenna set plates down before them, “I brought some bacon for you as well. Everyone loves bacon.”

“Thank you,” said Brienne, making herself meet Jenna’s eyes.

Jenna smiled, “I asked about you two back in the kitchen,” she said, “I only got bits and pieces, but I hear there’s a song about you and everything. So the young men last night…?”

“Were just friends.” Brienne said.

“And the man trouble?”

“That was me,” Jaime admitted, trying not to smile.

“Alright, then. You enjoy your breakfast.” Jenna said, smiling as she went to wait on another diner. Amused with the exchange, they ate the food she had brought them and were pleasantly surprised by how tasty it was.

“There is something to be said for eggs without decomposed chicks in them,” Jaime said around a mouthful of biscuit smothered in thick gravy.

“You’ll be spoiled for the salt fish and onion stew of the road.” Brienne said, examining the perfect crispness of a slice of bacon, “Maybe Jenna could come with us?”

“Don’t be cruel. She told me she came here with her family to escape the worst of the winter.”

“Ah, best leave her be, then.”

Mopping up the last of his gravy with a bit of biscuit, Jaime asked, “Ready to go see the new chambers?” 

“Mm, am I ever,” Brienne said, then leaned over to whisper in his ear, “I think I was promised a hot bath, and it’s long overdue.”

Jaime shivered at her warm breath in his ear, “Even if I have to carry the water myself, Wench, you’ll get your bath. I think you promised to wash something of mine.”

“I did?”

Jaime raised his eyebrows at her, the deep grooves of his dimples making Brienne’s blood race as his smile grew sharper, “Something you were concerned might have been soiled by someone else?” he prompted.

 _Oh_ , she mouthed, “I thought you said something of _yours_ ,” she said, trying to be nonchalant.

“Yours.” Jaime confirmed, climbing over the bench and offering her his hand.

Jaime kept her hand in his as they made their trek across the bailey and up the steps to the Holdfast. When they crossed the dry moat Brienne averted her eyes from the spiked heads. She’d seen enough of death and gore in the Riverlands and on the battlefield to last her the rest of her life without seeing more senseless brutality on display.

Jaime quickly located Lord Leyre in his office, surrounded by scrolls and quills. Leyre looked up and saw the couple holding hands and allowed himself a sardonic smirk.

“Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne,” he greeted them, coming out from behind his ornately carved desk. “I trust you are feeling better, young lady?” he said sternly to Brienne. 

“Yes, my Lord,” she said meekly, feeling about ten years old.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, though his tone of voice left her in some doubt. “I assume you are here for the chambers Tyrion had readied for you,” he picked a key off of the desk and walked past them, “Follow me.”

They walked behind the steward as he led them down one long corridor after another. Jaime squeezed Brienne’s hand and gave her a reassuring smile. Their rooms were on the other side of the hold from the royal apartments, something they had Tyrion to thank for. Neither wanted to run into Daenerys, and Jaime had spent far too much of his time in the Kingsguard standing outside of the royal chambers.

When they stopped in front of a set of double doors Leyre presented the key to Jaime, bowed briefly and walked away, though not before they glimpsed the indulgent smile he was trying to hide.

This moment seemed important to Brienne, standing there before the threshold of the room they would share. She would enter this room a maid, but she did not plan to leave it as one. Did Jaime sense her resolve? Guess her thoughts? Would she need to convince him that, to her, honor was a far more complex thing than whether or not she was a maiden? Beyond that door, a new phase of her life with Jaime would begin. 

Besides, she _wanted_ him. All of him.

Jaime unlocked the door and stepped aside for her to enter first. 

Their new chambers had two rooms, with the first being a smallish sort of parlor to relax in with guests or answer correspondence at the small writing desk. Its colors were muted cream and gold with deep, rich blues running throughout. The furniture was ornate but tasteful, with hand carved accents in oak. The cushions on chairs and couch were upholstered in fine old brocades with pastoral scenes rendered in a style that had been popular over a hundred years before. Several rugs covered the stone floor. Many had the worn, shiny look of age, while others probably weren’t much older than fifteen years or so, coming from the more prosperous years of Robert Baratheon’s reign, fine woven and featuring far too many stags.

The bed chamber was separated from the smaller room by huge draperies that matched the fabric in the first room. These had been gathered by wide swathes of solid colored cloth which could be unhooked for privacy. Within the chamber a bed that would have seemed high off the ground to anyone shorter than Jaime and Brienne dominated the space. A huge oak frame supported the double mattress, its pillars rising nearly to the high ceiling. More draperies hung from the canopy and were similarly tied back. A dressing table with a tall mirror stood against one wall, while a large hearth surrounded by veined white rock dominated the wall adjacent to the bed. Two chests of drawers and a blanket chest at the foot of the bed completed the room.

Set in an arched alcove connected to the bed chamber sat an enormous hammered copper tub, both ends rising into curved backrests forged to look like waves gracefully cresting over the sides. A small two-tiered table in front of the tub was stocked with soap, jars and a large dried sea sponge, with several rolled towels on the bottom shelf. The alcove’s thick stone walls were interspersed with deep niches, each containing a fat yellow candle. 

“Thank you, Tyrion,” Jaime murmured in awe.

“It’s beautiful,” Brienne said, “but wherever did he find such a large tub?”

“At a guess I would say this one was made to accommodate more than a couple of bathers. I don’t know what reign it’s from, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this tub was just the first course in many a royal orgy.” Jaime turned to Brienne, his eyes glinting, “We’ll put it to good use ourselves, won’t we?”

Brienne nodded. As many times as she had imagined their bath in Harrenhal ending with something other than just helping Jaime to get dressed, the thought of being naked with him in this tub was making her both aroused and nervous.

Jaime rose up on the balls of his feet to kiss her lips, “Unless you have something else you want to do, Wench, I’m going to get this filled for us.”

She followed him to a bell pull that would call a servant to their room. He was used to the way things were done here, and she was happy to let him take the lead. Brienne picked her brush up from where it had been set on a dressing table and began to run it through her hair. With time and care the stringy straw her hair had been when she first met Jaime had grown out and gotten softer. Even with the lack of sun it was still palest yellow, and though it was thicker than it had been, it would always be fine, each strand thin and straight. 

Brienne tried not to envy women like Cersei with naturally thick, wavy hair. There were so many things about her looks she could not change, but with time and Jaime’s regard she’d learned not to fret about her appearance around him. Of course, that had been when they were only ‘friends’; being absolutely naked before him was something she was only beginning to get used to. Even though she had felt undesirable for so much of her life, her disbelief that Jaime wanted her was fading fast. It felt like they had been moving toward loving each other openly for a long time.

Brienne turned from her musings to find Jaime sitting on the bed, watching her as she slowly stroked the brush through her hair. He held his hand out to her and she went to him. 

“Are you ready, my love?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and nodded, “I’m ready.” 

A knock on the door announced the arrival of a servant, and Jaime charged him with preparing their bath. Soon a line of strong young men toting buckets of hot water came quietly through their chambers, filling the tub. Clouds of steam rose, smelling of jasmine oil. The first servant stayed to light the candles in the alcove and the bed chamber and to ask if anything further was needed. Jaime dismissed him with a gesture. Even though Brienne was highborn, she had never mastered the combination of arrogance and disdain that the Lannister siblings seemed born to wield.

When the door closed behind the servant Jaime walked over and locked it. He strode back and taking her hand, led her to the alcove. Stopping just short of the space to give her a smile that would have made her knees weak if they hadn’t already been trembling, he reached for her long belt, deftly unlooping it single handed and tossing it behind them. Brienne did the same for his, sliding her hands down his slim hips as she unwound it. Taking the hem of his long shirt she pulled it up slowly, admiring the rippled planes of his stomach, the hair on his chest, his broad shoulders. She tugged the shirt over his head and watched his hair fall back over his shoulders. He was watching her, pupils so large and dark his eyes looked almost black.

She nuzzled the stubble growing on his cheek and jaw, then brushed her lips down his neck, kissing the apple of his throat as he let his head fall back with a groan. Brienne brushed a fingertip over one of his small, hard nipples, taking it between her lips as he shivered with pleasure. She teased the other nipple with her fingers as she sucked and bit at the small bud. 

Jaime reached for the edge of her tunic and began raising it slowly, following its progress with his lips, kissing each new bit of bared skin, the rough hair on his face making Brienne tingle as he moved. She surrendered to the way he was making her feel; heat was throbbing at her core, her smallclothes already damp from wanting him so much. She helped him lift the tunic over her head. It followed his shirt and the belts onto the floor. 

Wrapping his right arm around her waist he brought her close so that he could take her breast into the wet heat of his mouth while he rolled her other nipple between his fingers, pinching and pulling it as she gasped against him. She anchored her fingers in his hair and watched as he sucked and licked at her, the sight of her nipple becoming swollen and flushed from his mouth sending waves of longing and lust through her. Jaime looked up through his lashes, giving her breast a light nip.

As he latched onto her right breast he rubbed his forearm over the slickness he’d left on the other, the ridged scars at the end of his forearm sliding over sensitive skin, her nipple firm against the tender flesh where his pulse beat, rapid and strong. Brienne was certain she wouldn’t survive another second of the sensations he was creating when he moved his mouth down between her ribs and over the firm swell of her stomach to the waist of her breeches. 

He used his teeth to pull the tie holding them closed and loosened the laces with his fingers. He slid her breeches down slowly, following with tongue and teeth. She stepped out of them and they were tossed aside as well. Kneeling now, Jaime ran his fingernails through the hair at the juncture of her thighs before pushing two fingers between her legs, working them between the lips of her slit. 

“Gods, my love, you are so wet for me,” Jaime whispered, lowering his head to kiss her and taste the moisture there with the tip of his tongue. Brienne nearly staggered back as his tongue flicked against her sensitive flesh, surprised by the intensity of her body’s reaction to his touch. 

He grinned up at her, his eyes full of mischief, “We’ll save that for later, Wench, when I can hold you down and make sure you can’t get away.” He stood up next to her, tangling his hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and kissing her deeply, his tongue swirling around hers, letting her taste her own desire for him.  
  
Not breaking the kiss, Brienne reached down to undo his breeches. She could feel the proof of his desire pushing against the confines of the worn leather. Pulling away from his kiss, she looked at the outline of his cock curving up against his laces and rubbed the palm of her hand up its length and back again. Jaime moaned and leaned into her as she deftly undid his ties and pulled the last of his clothing off. She stepped back a bit to admire him. He smiled, biting his lower lip as her eyes roved over him slowly. She had seen him naked before, of course, but never like this. 

Jaime was not especially modest, and she had seen his cock several times, but other than shy glimpses of it in the Maidenvault she had never gotten a good look at it when it was hard. It stood out from his body, long and thick and curving up a little to its wide head. 

Jaime watched as she stepped closer and brushed her fingers along the top from root to crown, pausing to pass her thumb through the drop of wetness glistening at the tip, spreading it around gently. Jaime’s head went back and he moaned her name deep in his throat as she traced the ridge on the underside with her thumb, loving the way it throbbed and swelled at her touch. She lightly cupped his balls, wrapping her other hand around the shaft of his cock and moving it up toward the head, tightening her grip as she felt Jaime tense and shudder.

“You need to stop,” Jaime said in a strained voice.

Brienne stopped the motion of her hand, but didn’t let go, “You’re right. Let’s get this thing washed before we go any further.”

Jaime grinned at her boldness, gently unwrapping her fingers so that he could thread his fingers through them instead. He led her to the steaming tub and motioned for her to get in first. The water was hot and silky on her skin, the scent of jasmine delicate and exotic. Though she brought her legs up to her chest to give Jaime room to get in, she could tell they would both be able to stretch out as they faced each other. 

He settled into the water with a happy groan and sank up past his shoulders, his hair floating up around him. Brienne stretched out her legs, sliding one under and one over his. As the water lapped up around her collarbone she sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of their legs sliding against each other sensuously. They soaked for long minutes, letting the water relax them and temper the almost unbearable erotic tension of moments ago. 

Jaime picked up a ball of soap, and then used his legs and right arm to raise one of Brienne’s feet and brace it against his chest. He rubbed the soap over her foot and then set it back down on its little dish on the table. Using his fingers he lathered and spread the soap along her foot, between her toes and up her calf, working his way along the length of her leg. The soap soon dissipated in the water, but he continued to move his hand and forearm up Brienne’s thigh as she watched him through half-open eyes. 

When he reached the juncture of her thighs she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the sloping backrest. Though she was expecting it, his touch ghosting over her slit still made her wriggle away before she could make herself still again. Jaime had touched her there before, had made her writhe and climax on their bed in the Maidenvault; it was not a difficult decision to let him do whatever he wanted now. 

She felt his fingers push inside the lips of her cunt and stroke her folds. When he touched the swollen bud of her clit and slid his thumb over it she bit her lip and arched her back. She could hear a breathless laugh from him over how responsive she was.

“I’m going to do something I haven’t done to you before,” he said, “it won’t hurt, I promise.” 

He brushed two fingers down to her entrance and paused there, waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him. He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her further to him. Turning his hand palm up, he slid a finger inside of her. Their eyes locked as he brought it most of the way back out and then slid it back in, repeating the motion again and again. Brienne knew this motion was what fucking was about, but his finger was quite different than his cock, which seemed improbably big to get in where his finger was now. He pulled out and then slid two fingers in together; it didn’t hurt, but she could feel a slight stretching of her skin. Moving his thumb onto her nub again he caressed it in slow circles. Between the intense stimulation and the feel of his fingers in her cunt Brienne gasped and moaned at the hot pleasure spreading through her. Jaime grinned and withdrew his hand, then helped her take her leg off his shoulder. 

“Gods, just watching you get this excited is going to kill me. You have no idea how often I’ve dreamed of touching you like this.” He said. 

Brienne smiled and moved closer to Jaime, pressing him back against his side of the tub, straddling him. Her nipples brushed his chest, growing taut as the cool air dried them. Jaime urged her above him so he could take a nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth while flicking his tongue against it as she arched into him. 

Brienne began teasing Jaime by sliding herself slowly back and forth from his upper thighs to his belly, letting her thatch rub against his cock where it lay hard against stomach. Jaime groaned and sank lower in the tub, letting his head fall back until the water lapped through his hair and over his forehead. He held onto Brienne’s hip as she moved on him, learning what he liked as she watched, finding that the ecstasy on his face only heightened her own.

Jaime’s hand flexed and dug harder into her hip as he rose against her, and with a shuddering moan he half opened his eyes to watch her moving above him.

“Wench, unless you’re trying to make me come right now, you need to stop _that_.” He said as she ground against him, the head of his cock nearly at her entrance. Brienne hesitated, considering whether she wanted this to be the moment and the way he entered her, deciding reluctantly to slide away from him.

“I want you, Jaime,” she said breathlessly as he sat up a little higher in the tub, “I want you inside of me, I need to feel you moving in me.”

Jaime raised his hand to her cheek, “Brienne, my love, are you sure that’s what you want right now?”

“Maybe it would be better on the bed?” she suggested.

“I meant, right now, today? Are you ready for that?”

“Yes, Jaime,” Brienne said, starting to wonder if he was going to be stubborn. She hadn’t thought he would need convincing.

“Let’s get out of the tub and talk about this a minute…” he said.

“Talk.” Brienne muttered, taking a towel off of the shelf. She lifted herself off of Jaime and carefully stepped out of the tub. Jaime stepped out after her, and seeing the confusion in her eyes he kissed her ardently.

“Sweetling, don’t think for a second that I don’t want this. But your first time – this _is_ your first time?”

Brienne nodded impatiently, not even noticing the flash of relief in his eyes.

“I want your first time to be perfect, my love. Not just to please me,”

“Jaime…” Brienne said, almost rolling her eyes.

“And not just because you’re impatient for it…”

“Yes, because _I’m impatient for it_!”

“All right, all right,” Jaime laughed, taking his towel and wrapping it around her shoulders to dry the water still streaming down her body and onto the floor. She swung her towel over his head and rubbed at his wet hair vigorously before draping it over his shoulders. 

“Take me to bed, Jaime. I mean it.”

“See, if you’d been able to relieve some of that tension over the years like I have–”

Brienne’s bravery was starting to crumple under Jaime’s jests, and the sudden tears in her eyes made him ashamed. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” he said, leading her over by the bed. “I’m nervous, too. I just want it to be everything you hoped,”

“Jaime, it’s _you_. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Jaime took a deep breath and stepped in to kiss her when there was a knock at the doors.

“ _Every single time_!” he said, turning toward the door, “Go the fuck away!” he shouted.

“Sorry, Ser,” a male voice called from the other side of the door, “Message for you by raven, Ser!”

“Go on, it might be important,” Brienne said, though she looked doubtful and annoyed.

Jaime wrapped the towel around his waist and walked to the door. Brienne couldn’t hear what was said, but Jaime soon closed the door. He dropped two scrolls on the writing desk without looking at them and came back to her.

“Are you dry enough now? Let me put these towels back by the bath,” he said. 

He looked more serious than ever as he came back to stand in front of her. He leaned in and kissed her, drawing her into it, holding her against him. Brienne felt their desire kindling again as their naked bodies pressed together. She hoped Jaime had stopped questioning her resolve. 

He pulled away from her at last, searching her eyes.

“Wench,” Jaime sighed, “ _Brienne_ , my love, this isn’t the way – it’s not the way I wanted to do this.”

Brienne’s breath caught in her throat, unsure of what he was telling her. Had she done something wrong? _Why_ didn’t he?

Jaime sank to his knees and pressed his bowed head to her, his wet hair chill against her stomach. After a moment he looked up and reached for her right hand, drawing it to his mouth to kiss before he placed her palm against his heart. She could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, fast and strong.

“I wanted to do this right, to fight you and make you yield for the right to ask for your hand,” Jaime said, his eyes large and dark with feeling, “I know this isn’t the romantic proposal you deserve, my love. Will you marry me, Brienne?”

Brienne sank to her knees before him, overwhelmed and unable to speak for long seconds. She nodded, gazing at him through the blur of tears gathering in her eyes.

“Yes.” She said simply, and he gathered her to him and they held each other. After a while Brienne laughed a little and said, “You were going to fight me?”

“It’s what you’ve said any suitor would need to do to wed you: best you at swordplay.”

“I haven’t thought of that in a long time, Jaime. I made that rule up to keep my father from trying to betroth me again.”

“You mean if I had really attacked you when we were sparring and tried to beat you into yielding…?”

“I would have wondered what in the seven hells had gotten into you.”

Jaime laughed a long while, finally stifling his mirth against her shoulder. “What if your father had tried to betroth you again? Would you have insisted on a fight then?”

“Jaime, I would marry no one but you.”

“What if something happened to me? If I were killed?”

“Please don’t ever say something like that; I could not bear it. I meant that even if you and I parted and never had this, I don’t think I could bear to be bound to another man.” 

“You will always be mine, and I yours, Brienne, I promise. Now let’s get off the floor, my knees are too old for this. You sure you want to marry an old man like me?”

“I love you; to me you are perfect. Besides, when you were a few years younger you were not exactly appealing,” she said, getting up to sit on the bed.

“I was quite an ass when you first met me,” Jaime admitted.

“And sometimes you still are,” Brienne smiled as he got on the bed as well, “but I adore you all the same.”

Jaime stretched out on his side and pulled Brienne down to lie facing him. He kissed her tenderly, “I adore you, too, Bearenne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, to be continued...cuz, you know, they need to take their time and this chapter was long already.
> 
> I love your comments, every one of them, whether they're a single word or several paragraphs. Knowing you're out there enjoying my story and fangirling along makes me happier than you can imagine.
> 
> So, Brienne's first time - I assume that should be her POV - thoughts?
> 
> Also, I need some help. I decided the summary I originally wrote for this story didn't really work so well anymore. I'm looking for a new summary if anyone has any suggestions. Update: I made a new summary, any comments on that?
> 
> Also, this is really explicit and about to get more so. I know some writers make a separate, less explicit entry for those who are smut-averse. Are any of you smut averse?
> 
>   
>   
> Wonderful fan art for Taking the Silver by [Golden Cave](http://goldencave.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	23. Cersei, Loras POVs (NOT a pairing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei's POV immediately after she tried to compromise Jaime. 
> 
> Loras' POV Immediately after Brienne left Dwayne's room.
> 
>  
> 
> _For all those curious about Cersei's thoughts and wanting more about Loras and Dwayne. Humor and romance and yes, mentions of Jaime and Brienne._

**Cersei**

Cersei watched Jaime stalk away from her, stiff-legged and furious, his single fist clenched. _Gods, aside from the one-fist thing_ , she thought, _he’s just so utterly fuckable_. She picked herself off the floor, resisting the urge to rub her hand over her bruised bottom. She also had to resist the urge to jump up and down in a victory dance. _The beast saw, she saw, she saw_! Cersei had hoped for something like this, and the timing couldn’t have been better. 

She’d gotten word from her little hired spy that not only was Jaime on his way to the room he was inexplicably sharing with his repulsive pet, but said pet had just ridden into the Keep. Her first choice would have been to simply get Jaime into her room and seduce him, but making sure his loathsome companion saw them together looking like they’d just fucked was a victory in itself. She still wished she’d gotten Jaime into her bed. A little intensive sucking and fondling would surely get his cock back up where it needed to be.  

Cersei felt excitement throb in her cunt just thinking of it. Jaime may have become all noble and chaste, but he was still the only one who had ever _really_ satisfied her in bed. Sure, she’d had some fun in the meantime; she wasn't frigid, after all. She fondly remembered Osmund, who had lacked Jaime’s finesse but still had a certain savage appeal when he fucked, and his overly large cock only added to the exquisite combination of pain and pleasure he’d brought to her bed. Ser Osney had lacked his brother’s skills in the bed chamber, though Cersei had to admit to a certain eagerness to please on his part. Still, his lack of balls under torture from the High Septon’s minions were proof he wasn’t really man enough for her.  

King Robert hardly bore thinking about. While she might have learned to forgive him for his small cock if he had been willing to learn any of the ways she liked to be pleased, he had only been interested in imagining the dead Stark girl. He probably would have fucked the girl’s corpse if he’d been able. Cersei had often lain like a corpse under him as he labored away at her; maybe that was why he persisted in calling out ‘Lyanna’ when they fucked. Would he have eventually hit his precious Lyanna when she tired of his boorishness in bed or objected to all of the women he would eventually decide he needed to satisfy his persistent but puny cock? She had thought she would learn to love him once, but even if he hadn’t been such a mean drunk, she had already been spoiled by Jaime.

_Oh, Jaime_. Cersei settled onto her bed and lay back to consider her next move. Not being able to get his cock up anymore was tragic, but could be remedied, unlike that hideous stump he had come back from the Riverlands with. How could he be so loyal to the woman who had been supposed to protect him, but allowed the Bloody Mummers to take one of the things that made him the man he had been? Between his hand and his cock, at least one thing might still be saved. Cersei pulled her skirts up around her waist and touched herself, though she didn’t delve into her slit yet. 

She had almost forgotten what her latest lady maid had done to her thatch. After asking her to give her a Braavosi like the other maid had offered to do, this new girl had told Cersei she didn’t know how to make that particular trim. The “Westerosi” was all the rage anyway, she had said, with its “King’s Road.” Cersei had readily agreed, since her cunt was, indeed, the King’s Road if one thought about it. The maid, Kyrin her name was, had gotten the special wax and instructed Cersei to lay back and prepare for a little bit of pain. Knowing that the price of beauty was often pain, she had readily submitted to Kyrin’s ministrations. The hot wax had burned on her tender skin, and the stinging and bleeding when the strips of cotton and wax had been removed had almost caused her to slap the maid. She couldn’t afford to lose another one; Godfrey was sure to demand another “payment” should that happen. Having to satisfy herself with yelling and screaming alone were much less satisfying. 

Once the procedure was over, Kyrin had proudly handed her a hand mirror to examine the results. If the girl had thought Cersei’s language colorful before, her ears were surely burning after Cersei saw the results of her Westerosi. 

“What in the seven hells is this?” she had shrieked, “Why does it look like a worm slithering down to my cunt? Is this some kind of joke, you incompetent slut?”

“M’lady,” the girl had whimpered, “That’s the King’s Road, _everyone_ knows the King’s Road has lots of bends in it.”

Next time Cersei would ask for a description first, but in the meantime she would have to either shave and go bare or wait until her hair grew out. Maybe the girl was right and this really was all the rage among the fashionable ladies of court. She wished she’d managed to get Jaime far enough into her chambers to see it. Unless his Boorish Beast had made his tongue limp as well. 

Just thinking of getting Jaime to come in here so she could lift her skirts and show him that she had left off her smallclothes in anticipation of him was making her feel hot. If he hadn’t pushed her down so quickly, and if he’d gotten hard and ready like she had expected, she might have lifted her skirts and had him fucking her against the wall outside when Beastly Brienne had come down the hall. 

As it was, though, the woman had turned and run when she saw that Cersei had her hand in Jaime’s breeches. Jaime hadn’t seen her, and wouldn’t know to go after her if that was what he would have wanted to do. Cersei still wondered if there was really anything between them. The Beast wasn’t womanly enough to arouse a man, was she? 

With a jolt, it occurred to Cersei to wonder if maybe Brienne _wasn't_ a woman. That would explain a lot, she thought, her size, her strength, her small breasts, her ugliness…and then she remembered Jaime pressing her against the wall outside the Queen’s Ballroom, looking for all the world like he was going to take her right there in front of the Seven and everyone else. The implications if the Beast were a man had Cersei’s hand moving away from the wriggly line of hair leading down to her cunt. Gods, if Brienne were a man that would make Jaime… _up for a threesome, maybe_? Surely he still liked women as well, right? Her hand crept back down, and this time she slipped a finger between her folds and started to circle it just the way she liked. 

If she couldn’t convince Jaime, maybe she could convince his… _whatever_ and he would go along with it. But again, what if she tried to seduce Beastly Brienne and it turned out that she was a woman after all? Well, Taena had been pretty pleased with her skills, hadn’t she? Cersei withdrew her hand again and rested it on her stomach. She enjoyed having a woman share her bed, and though she had experimented with Taena it hadn’t been what she had hoped for. There wasn’t nearly enough power to be gained that way. She missed Taena, in a way. A shame she had fled before Cersei could involve Qyburn in disciplining her… counseling Cersei against rewarding Robert Strong for championing her had been overstepping her place and not to be tolerated.

Cersei was still curious about what Qyburn had endowed Strong with beneath his breeches. Alas, Strong had gone berserk and killed Qyburn not long after the battle to prove her innocence.  The guards had been forced to set him afire before she could satisfy her curiosity. Knowing Qyburn it probably would have been something quite interesting, something he had carefully preserved for the purpose. Something damn near unstoppable.

Cersei sighed, fondly remembering a time when letting someone fuck her had usually gotten her everything she wanted. Why had everyone around her gotten so perverse? 

There was a knock at her door and she sat up. It was not a timid knock, so perhaps it was Jaime coming back to finish what she’d started, to accept her offer to help with his _difficulty_. Cersei smoothed her skirts down and reached into her bodice to reposition her breasts, which more and more persisted in drifting out of position no matter what kind of boning was built into her clothing, and went to the door. 

When she opened it Tyrion was standing there, looking up at her sternly. Cersei put a hand on her hip, “What do you want?” she asked.

“Hello to you as well, sweet sister,” Tyrion said, sketching her a sarcastic bow, “I’m looking for Jaime, is he with you?”

No one had come to her seeking Jaime in a very long time. A rush of triumph flowed through her veins like a fine and potent wine, “He was, but he’s gone now,” she said, trying to recall how to arrange her face to look as though she’d just been well fucked. She was a little out of practice after the likes of Godfrey the Groan. 

Tyrion was frowning, “What have you done, Cersei?” he asked. For a little man he did have a commanding voice, especially when he was angry or suspicious like he was now.

“Me? I have done nothing that concerns you, little brother,” she said. 

“Have you done something that concern’s Jaime?” Tyrion asked impatiently.

He was angry, so he must have heard about what Beastly Brienne had seen. She let her satisfaction show, though she knew her victory was shallow, and would be until she could be sure she’d sundered Jaime from his creature and gotten him back under her spell.  

“What Jaime and I do when we’re alone is not your business, Tyrion.” She smirked, “Now do waddle along. I don’t know where Jaime is, but I _doub_ t he’s with his fantastically ugly pet just now.” 

Tyrion gave her a look that suggested he might be considering violence. _What are you going to do, kick my shins, little brother?_ Surprisingly, he left without even his usual attempt to insult her, _better and better,_ _if he’s too worried to even do that_. _Though why should he care if I ran Jaime’s pet off_?

Cersei closed her door and poured herself some wine. If all went well Jaime would be feeling the sting of rejection soon, making him all the easier to lure back to her. If not, well, there were other weapons a woman could use.

**Loras**

After Brienne left, Loras quietly shut the door behind her. He looked into the big mirror over the dressing table, ruffling his curly hair and baring his teeth to check for stuck food. He quickly huffed out a breath on his wrist and then sniffed it, checking his breath. It smelled like old rum and sleep. He picked up the rum jar they’d carried from the dining hall and gulped some, swishing it around his mouth with a grimace. Better fresh rum than smelling like a passed-out drunk. 

Which was probably how Dwayne would smell, but Loras had personal standards to adhere to. He sat on the little padded stool in front of the table, facing the bed. Dwayne was lying on his side with his back to him, snoring lightly. His auburn hair looked like aged copper in the candlelight, the bound tail of it lying in gentle waves over the pillow. Loras noticed a sprinkling of freckles dusting his shoulders and back and yearned to trace them with his fingertips. 

Loras chuckled to himself over Brienne’s advice to snuggle up to the big knight and let things happen. Things might or might not _happen_ , but it surely wouldn’t take long to find out if there was any point in hoping. Things were often more complicated where men and women were concerned. If Ser Jaime had been in love with a man there would have been none of this dance he and Brienne had been weaving around each other for the last few years. Loras was less sure of what would happen if they had both been women, but from what he had observed in such cases they would be sharing chambers immediately, with no one asking awkward questions. 

Trying to stifle sudden laughter, Loras realized that was almost exactly what Jaime and Brienne had been doing, except there were nothing but questions and little actual sex that he could tell. They had been doing quite well together recently, though, until this mess with Cersei. Poor Jaime; the look on his face when he saw Brienne there in bed with Dwayne had nearly made Loras’ heart break. If someone looked like that over him there was no question that he would take him back and never let him go. But this was Ser Jaime, which made it all the more sweet; that arrogant, misunderstood and incredibly, undeniably handsome man would make anyone swoon. Loras was glad that Brienne was so obviously in love with him.

When Jaime had come home to the Red Keep after losing his hand he’d been a mess.  Perhaps other men didn’t perceive his agony, but so few of them knew other men’s hearts the way Loras did. Jaime had been a man shaken to the core, yet despite Tywin’s demands and his sister’s rejection, he had risen to the challenge of being Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and done his duty with honor. 

Cersei had been a seeping poison in Jaime’s life, before and after his maiming. Not just because of the need to hide their love, which Loras could relate to; but the imbalance of affection and power between them, even before Cersei’s madness became evident. 

Jaime and Loras became friends of a sort during those weeks while they were both still at the Keep. Jaime had talked to him about Brienne often, telling him of their journey with Cleos and praising her bravery and skill with a sword. Of his maiming and the time that followed, Jaime said little, except that he owed his life to her. The tale of the bear pit he related in great detail, Jaime not budging in his belief that Brienne could have killed the bear on her own, had she a sword with a sharp edge. His own part in jumping into the pit without a weapon was told modestly but humorously.  Loras had found the tale enchanting and romantic. That Jaime could be in denial about his feelings for Brienne still made him shake his head.  Even though he never admitted to his growing feelings for the girl, Loras knew then Jaime was a man falling in love. 

Life was too uncertain to hold back when you loved somebody, and in those days when his own grief over Renly was so painful and raw, Loras was grateful for the time they’d had. He still missed Renly terribly, though he’d had other lovers since. Renly wouldn’t have begrudged him that comfort. 

When Loras had been burned at Dragonstone he had thought for a long time that he would die. It had given him comfort to think that he would be together with Renly again when he passed to the next world.  But he hadn’t died, though the pain of healing had made him want to. The oil that burned him had left a map of scars all over his body in spatters and rivulets of pale and puckered flesh. His chest had taken the worst of it, though his right arm and left thigh were marred as well. 

It had taken a long time to accept the alteration to his appearance. He was the Knight of Flowers, once considered one of the most handsome and desirable men in the seven kingdoms. Even though his face had been spared, the first time he had allowed himself to be seen without his clothing had been terrifying. Like Brienne with the scars from Biter on her cheek, and Jaime with his lost sword hand, he had struggled to accept himself again. Needing others to accept him had become less and less important over time.

Loras stood up and took his tunic off. He would learn soon enough how Dwayne felt about his scars. Dwayne knew about what had happened at Dragonstone; they wouldn’t be a surprise. Better to know his reaction to them before they became lovers. Loras quietly got on the bed and eased up against Dwayne’s sleeping form. 

Dwayne did not stir, and eventually Loras dared to drape an arm around his narrow waist and relax. Being this close to the man was arousing and a little intimidating. What would he think when he woke up and found Loras snuggled up next to him? He hadn’t felt this strong an attraction to someone since Renly, though Dwayne and Renly were nothing alike. Dwayne was like a big playful puppy, not yet grown into his oversized feet. He had none of Renly’s sophistication or regal bearing. His skill with a sword was impressive; he might have gotten by with less training considering his long reach, but he always strove to learn and improve. Loras was quicker, of course, and more experienced in battle. Both of them were competitive, and when they sparred it seemed to Loras that they moved well together. 

He had heard from those who had witnessed it that seeing Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne spar was like watching a perfect dance. Their foot and sword-work so intricate, instinctive and fierce they seemed connected when they fought with or against each other. Loras looked forward to seeing that someday. He hoped in time he might have a sword partner as well suited to him as they were to each other. Despite their odd relationship, he sometimes envied them.

Loras matched his breathing to Dwayne’s, eventually falling asleep. Several hours later when Loras awoke he was lying on his back. Dwayne was reclining on his side with his head propped on his fist, eyes roving over the scars on his chest. Loras watched his face, noticing the slight furrowing of Dwayne’s brow, the downward turn of his full lips. When he noticed that Loras was awake he blushed and smiled sheepishly. 

“I can’t imagine the agony you must have been in,” Dwayne said softly, his hand rising a little as though to reach out, and then settling back at his hip.

“It made me wish for the oblivion of death at the time,” Loras said, turning onto his side as well, hoping that Dwayne would meet his eyes. At least he hadn’t backed away or left the bed when he’d found Loras next to him. 

“Where’s Lady Brienne?” Dwayne asked, still avoiding his eyes. 

“She left in the night. Ser Jaime came looking for her when she was passed out,” Loras said, thinking, _look at me, look me in the eye._

“I hope you sent him away. Where did she go?”Dwayne asked, finally risking a look at Loras’ face.

“Jaime explained what happened. He claims he did nothing with Cersei.” Loras said, trying to read Dwayne’s gold and green eyes, which still would not settle on his own.

Dwayne made a disbelieving huff, “You don’t believe him, do you?”

“I do.” Loras said, “He would never do that to Brienne. I told her as much. Though he may have a little trouble getting over seeing her next to a handsome, taller man,” 

Dwayne smiled a little and finally met his eyes, “Is that so?”

“It is,” Loras said, daring to reach out and brush back a lock of Dwayne’s hair. Dwayne blushed, his smile disappearing as he inhaled sharply.

“I didn’t tell him I was sleeping between you and Brienne the whole time.” Loras said, not moving his hand away from Dwayne’s temple.

“Were you? That’s why you were next to me when I woke up then.” Dwayne said.

_Relieved_? _Disappointed_? “No, I saw Brienne on her way and then got back in bed. I hoped you wouldn’t mind. It was late, and…”

“Oh,” Dwayne said, his blush deepening. Loras risked a quick glance downward, receiving an answer to the question of whether Dwayne was attracted to him or not.

He spread his palm over Dwayne’s cheek and leaned forward, tilting his head up until his lips were inches from the other man’s. 

“I, uh, I never…” Dwayne stuttered, looking into Loras’ eyes. 

“Then this will be your first,” Loras said, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments mean so much to me. I always spend the next several hours after posting a chapter obsessively checking to see if I got any. Needy author/greedy author and all that.  
> Bonus points for those who comment on the _actual chapter and it's contents_ , though I'll happily accept disappointed rants as well.
> 
> By the way, did you know I wrote another story [Cast Upon the Stones](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1021990/chapters/2033055) which is also quite smutty and romantic (and shorter)? If you can't wait for the next chapter for more Jaime and Brienne you might enjoy reading it. I'm quite proud of it.


	24. No Longer a Maid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This time, no one knocks at the door._   
>  _Explicit with a capital "E"._   
>  _You may want to read the last couple of paragraphs of chapter 22 to catch up as this one begins right where that one left off._

“Jaime, did you ask me to marry you now because you feared to dishonor me by taking my maidenhead?” Brienne asked, “Because getting you to propose isn’t why I want you to.”

“No, sweetling, that’s not why. Although, that _does_ make it seem like a worthy and honorable reason. I’m just not that noble; if we hadn’t been interrupted I’d have had you moaning by now,” he grinned,  “ but I saw that one of the messages I got at the door was from Tarth; your father’s answer to my betrothal request. It doesn’t matter to me if he says ‘yea’ or ‘nay.’ I wanted _your_ answer first.”

Brienne laughed, “You’ll have me moaning that fast, will you?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, Wench.” Jaime said, as he slid his hand over her waist and hip.

“How ever did you get a raven through to Tarth in this weather?” Brienne asked.

Jaime moved a little closer, spreading his hand over one cheek of her ass to urge her nearer, “Hmm, I sent seven of them, hoping at least one would make it through,” he answered, lowering his lips to the dip between her neck and breastbone.

Brienne shivered at the feel of his hot breath as he began exploring with his teeth and tongue, “Seven birds! The poor things; I hope none of them died along the way.”

“That’s why I sent so many,” Jaime murmured against her neck as he nipped his way up to her jaw while continuing to explore her backside with his hand.

“I wonder if my –“ Brienne gasped as he reached her earlobe and took it between his teeth, “father was surprised – “ her breath caught as Jaime circled the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, “to receive a betrothal req- _oh, gods_ – request from – you…” she palmed Jaime’s head as he went back to her earlobe and suckled at it, “My father might – _ah_ – “

Jaime abruptly released her ear, propping himself up with his elbow and looking sternly down at her. She peered up at him, the picture of innocence, her sky-blue eyes questioning.

“For someone so eager to get on with this you sure seem to have a lot to say about raven mortality.” He said, “And I’m not certain this is the right time to discuss your father, either. Maybe I should send for some wine and we can have a nice talk in the parlor instead. Would you like to write some notes of condolence to the ravens’ families while I do that?” 

Brienne smiled sheepishly, “No, my love.” 

Jaime bestowed a quick kiss on her lips, “That’s the first time you’ve ever said ‘my love’ to me,” he said, a lopsided smile quirking at his lips.

“Is it?” she said, surprised. “I guess I’ve been thinking of you as ‘my Jaime’ for so long that when I say your name it means nearly the same thing as ‘my love’.” Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t look away.  

Jaime felt his heart give a little stutter of joy. “And how long have I been ‘your’ Jaime?” _How long have you loved me_?

“A very long time,” she said vaguely.

Jaime looked at her for a while expectantly, “We’re to be married, Brienne. Please don’t hide your feelings away from me,” he said, “Don’t you think I might need reassurance, too?” 

“I’m sorry, Jaime,” Brienne said softly, “I do forget. Sometimes I still feel like a foolish girl, still needing to hide how hopelessly in love I am.”

Slightly mollified, Jaime sank back onto the bed beside her, “I agree that you’re hopeless,” he said, stroking his hand along her flank and the strong muscles of her thigh.

“I believe I’ve _loved_ you since Harrenhal,” Brienne said, “but I only realized that I was _in_ love with you when first I was on the Quiet Isle, confiding in Elder Brother. Though it was on our quest for Sansa, when we would lie together in the dark and talk nearly the night through, that I began to think of you as ‘my Jaime’.”

“And you are _my_ Brienne, for now and always. Now, where were we?” Jaime asked, taking her earlobe back between his teeth.

“I do wonder what the scroll from my father says… _Ow_!” Brienne squeaked as Jaime bit down on her ear.

“Shall I go check?” Jaime said, making to get out of bed.

“Sorry,” Brienne said, barely contrite as she grabbed Jaime’s hand to keep him on the bed, “Who was the other scroll from?”

“Toby Mott,” Jaime said, pulling Brienne toward the edge of the bed as he made to go get the messages, “I asked him when we might come by the forge together.” He got off the bed, Brienne clutching his hand with both of hers. 

“I think you’re stalling,” she said, not letting him pull her off the bed. She let her grip slacken for a second. As soon as she saw Jaime relax she gave a mighty tug, yanking him back onto the bed. 

Jaime lay on his back where he’d landed next to her, laughing as they held hands, “ _I’m_ stalling?” he asked, turning his head to grin at her.

Brienne nodded, still laughing a bit. 

Suddenly Jaime was up and covering her, pushing her legs apart with his knees so he could lay between them. His hand pinned her right arm above her head as he pressed her down with his weight, grinding his hips into hers, his cock hard between them.

“I think I’m done stalling,” he said, his smile just a shade dangerous as he lowered his head to her mouth and whispered against her lips, “I hope you are, too.”

Brienne arched into him, flexing her constrained arm but not really trying to get loose. She pulled his lower lip between her teeth, teasing it before their mouths met forcefully, tongues and teeth and breathless passion consuming them. Brienne wrapped her left hand around Jaime’s neck and closed her eyes, feeling his lips moving against hers, tongue sliding and probing inside her mouth, his rigid cock rubbing against her thatch and belly. Jaime was moving against her slowly, the motion of his hips more sensuous caress than thrust, leading Brienne in a slow dance that reminded her of the graceful strike and parry, step and slide of learning swordplay.

Jaime released Brienne’s mouth and she let her head fall back as he began moving his tongue over her throat, sucking and biting as she pressed up against him, silently gasping when he paused where her neck curved into her shoulder, suckling her in pulses that echoed between her legs, the throbbing making her stiffen and writhe in turns, moving against the pressure of Jaime’s cock as he rocked his pelvis against hers, friction and heat making them both tremble and moan.  

Jaime lifted his lips away from her shoulder, and Brienne could still feel the pounding of her pulse where he’d made it sing and spread through her body. He began tracing a path down to her breasts with his tongue and she strained against him, her nipples hard as he released his grip on her arm so he could rub his calloused thumb over one perfect bud, watching her face as she opened her eyes, the blue of them a corona around the black, drinking in the sight of him. Jaime very deliberately licked the other nipple, his eyes never leaving hers as he swirled his tongue in tight little circles until Brienne gasped impatiently, pushing against his mouth until he took her areola and nipple into his mouth, suckling as she buried her fingers in his hair and bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Jaime could smell her arousal growing stronger, could feel how wet she was where his balls and the base of his cock were pushed against her thatch. He was aching with need, his self-control close to faltering. He released Brienne’s breast, the sight of her flushed and swollen nipple sending a wave of fresh arousal through him. He moved forward to kiss her lips again, smiling down at her as he put his weight on his forearms, no longer rocking his hips, the only movement Brienne’s hands roaming over his arms and shoulders and sweeping down to brush her fingers through the sheen of sweat at the small of his back. 

“Why did we stop?” she finally whispered, smoothing his hair back over his head. She knew it must be driving him crazy having it hang in his face the way it was. She always found it endearing the way he just couldn’t keep his hand and stump out of his hair when he was nervous or stressed. Not that he was nervous now, was he?

“Needed a break, Sweetling. Just for a minute. I want to go slow for you, but it isn’t easy when I want you so badly.”

“We don’t have to go slowly,” Brienne said, “I’m ready for this. I’m not afraid.”

“You’re not afraid of anything, I know. But just because you’re not afraid doesn’t mean we have to rush. It’s your first time; I want to make it good for you.”

“I’m sure it will be _good_ , Jaime. I’m not afraid of pain. The gods know I've faced worse.”

“My eager girl,” Jaime said, moving to lie beside her, “I know you have faced worse pain, but it wasn’t pain from someone who loves you. When I enter you for the first time I want you to be so ready for me that you will remember our first time was about love and pleasure, not discomfort and haste.”

“It’s important to you,” Brienne said, shifting to face him.

“Give me this,” Jaime said seriously, reaching for her hand, “It’s not just your first time, it’s _our_ first time. We’ve had little enough pleasure and ease these last few years. I want this memory to keep us warm, whatever is to come.”

“Jaime, you’re so grim. It’s our first, not our last.”

“I know, my love. Believe me, fucking you well and often will be all I can think about from now on,” he grinned, “though we’ll have to be careful my cock doesn’t crack off like an icicle when we try it up north.”

Brienne laughed. She reached down and stroked her fingers over his cock, “That would be a tragedy indeed. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep it warm.”

“Awfully saucy for a maid, aren’t you?” Jaime smiled, running his hand over the curve of her waist and hip, and then sliding it down to spread his fingers over her belly. “I do worry about getting you with child, my love. It seems too dangerous a time for us to start a family.”

Brienne blushed, “I had planned to ask you to acquire some moon tea for me on the morrow. I didn’t want to bring it up, yet.”

“Embarrassed again? I’ll find a way to get some for you, tomorrow and as long as we need it, I promise,” Jaime said, his expression softening, “Do you think you might like to have children someday? When Spring comes and the Others have been defeated or gone?”

“Do you want to be a father again?” Brienne asked softly.

Jaime took a deep breath and reached for Brienne’s hand, lacing their fingers together, “I want to be a _real_ father, for the first time, to see you with my child growing inside you. I want a real family, built on love. Our love.” 

“I want that, too, Jaime, I want that for us. We could raise them on Tarth…”

“Them?” Jaime said, kissing her soundly.

“Well, whatever the gods give us” she said, suddenly thinking of her dream, of losing her unborn child and Jaime. 

He saw the sudden fear in her eyes and caressed her cheek, his fingers brushing over her scar tenderly, “Bearenne, we can’t know what’s ahead for us, but we have always prevailed. As long as we’re together we will survive. I promise you this.”

“Then we must always be together, for I’ll take that promise as an oath.” Brienne said solemnly, “As I am yours…”

“And you are mine,” Jaime said fiercely, claiming her, pulling her against him, kissing her like he would never let go. He moved over her again, resting his knees on either side of her hips without breaking their kiss, his body poised above hers. Brienne reached between them and stroked his cock, running her fingers along the hard length of it, catching the moisture suspended from its tip with her thumb and then spreading it back along the head of it, loving the texture of his sensitive skin, the throbbing heat there making her own excitement sharper. 

Brienne wrapped one hand around him and slowly moved it up his shaft. Jaime broke away from her mouth, bowing his head against her shoulder, his whole body tense as she moved her hand up, feeling how the ridge on the underside of his cock arrowed up by the head. She pressed her thumb there lightly, exploring, and Jaime shuddered with pleasure.

“Oh, gods, Wench,” he gasped, “just…gods be good, how did…”

Brienne smiled, a mixture of pride and arousal at his reaction, “How did… _what_?” she asked when he didn’t continue, his breathing heavy and his eyes closed.

He half-opened his eyes to look into hers, “you’re just…a fast learner…” he said, staring down at her as she began to move her hand again, down and then back up, once again brushing her thumb against the sensitive skin right under the head of his cock. 

“I have always had a deft hand at sword play, my lord,” she said, surprised by how much fun she was having.

“Gods, my love, Brienne, _yes…no…_ ” he said, thrusting into her hand as she held the girth of him and moved her other hand to his balls, any maidenly reticence or shyness forgotten in her quest to touch Jaime as she’d always wanted to. “ _You_ – I – _I’m_ supposed to be making _you_ ready…” Jaime groaned, trying to back away from her. 

Reluctantly, she withdrew her hands and propped herself on her elbows to watch him as he got off the bed. The sight of him lion proud, standing before her, sent a new rush of desire surging, the need pulsing in her cunt and spreading to the very tips of her fingers and toes. 

Was it wrong to love him for his beauty as well as his heart? Golden hair again hanging over his amazing eyes, the way his dimples curved around his mouth, smirking at her now with mischievous intent, the strength of his shoulders and arms, his chest, his belly, everything she saw, she loved and admired. His cock, hard and ready for her and his thighs – _oh, gods, his thighs_ – no wonder she had thought him half a god in Harrenhal and been disturbed at the way her body had reacted to him.  
  
The way she was responding to the sight of his naked body now was anything but disturbing. She returned his mischievous look with one of her own, biting down on her lip and looking up at him, wishing she had the courage to do something really seductive to get him to come closer again. _Even if I had the courage_ , she thought, _I wouldn’t know what to do_ …

Jaime watched the flush spreading across her face and chest, admiring the freckles dusting her skin.  He loved her breasts, with their pale pink tips that flushed so dark when he suckled them, the way her nipples often stood out beneath her clothes; he had ached to touch and taste them for so long. 

Jaime leaned over Brienne on the bed, planting his hand and stump on either side of her waist. He stared down at her, his eyes roaming down her firm belly, the small womanly swell of it making him want to bury his head there and embrace her, protect her. Her waist was more curved now than it had been in the Harrenhal baths. She’d still been a teen then, barely out of girlhood. He remembered thinking of her as an ‘absurd child’ even though he’d been aroused by the sight of her. She looked more like his dream now; a beauty to him, a knight in all but title. 

As Jaime’s eyes roamed over her body Brienne raised her knees, her thighs rubbing against each other as the heat between her legs made it difficult to stay still.  He noticed and smiled, “As I was trying to say, Wench, I meant to be getting you ready, though I _think_ …” he lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against hers, his stubble tickling her, making her shiver, making her heart race. He nuzzled his way over to her lips and kissed her.

“You _think_ …?” Brienne prompted him when he drew back again. 

“Mmm, sorry, can’t think right now,” he said, standing up again, parting her knees and running his hand and forearm down the insides of her thighs. Brienne tried to deny the urge to raise her hips as his fingertips brushed against the wavy hair between her legs. When he slid a finger down between the lips of her cunt she lost the struggle, thrusting her pelvis against his hand with an undignified groan.

“My love, my… _Jaime_ …” she panted as he moved two fingers down through her folds to her entrance and back again, “I don’t think you need to get me any more ‘ready.’”

“Mmm,” he hummed, his grin deepening as he looked up at her through his eyelashes. He planted a wet kiss on her belly, “not yet,” and turned his hand palm up, circling one finger around her entrance. 

Each touch seemed to reverberate through her entire body. _Is this what he means by ready? I had no idea…_ She started to say his name, “Jaim -” when he pushed two long fingers into her cunt and she cried out instead, his name ending on something of a wailing _eeeeee_. Brienne writhed against Jaime’s hand as he pushed forward, his knuckles pressing against the tender flesh surrounding her entrance and then withdrawing and pushing against her again, over and over, a rhythm like a rushing heartbeat…

Suddenly, she wanted him so badly she gasped, “I want you inside of me, Jaime,” but he just looked up at her, his eyes dark as night. His lips quirked a little and he moved his thumb up to rub her clit, the nub of it so sensitive that her back arched and she clutched the blanket on either side of her, anchoring herself against the storm of sensation.

Jaime watched her face a moment as she struggled, fighting to maintain control of her reactions. Seeing her losing the battle had his cock swelling harder, aching for her, to be where his fingers were. But as ready as Brienne was physically, her cunt swollen and wet and her entire body shaking, Jaime was still waiting for the right time. He’d imagined this so, so many times. A hundred fantasies about how he would take her for the first time, each one a little different, except for this, the need to make her _let go_. 

He used his arms to spread her legs further, opening her up to him. He used his fingers to part the lips of her cunt. When the pressure of his fingers left her, Brienne moaned, and as he watched she unclenched one hand from the blanket and placed it over her breast. She was watching him, her eyelids heavy over eyes unfocused with desire, and her lips swollen from biting down on them to keep from keening as he’d worked her. Her fingertips closed over her nipple and she pinched it, pulling it and rolling it between her fingers so roughly that Jaime had to shut his eyes for a minute as his cock throbbed and his balls began to tighten against him. He took several deep breaths before he felt able to look at her again. 

“By the Seven, you make me want to fuck you so hard,” he whispered, so low he thought she might not hear him.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” she gasped, moving under his hand, “I need you in me. I love you. I want you _now_ , Jaime,”

“Soon,” he promised, and lowered his head between her legs, using his tongue against her sensitive skin, licking her until she was bucking against his mouth. He wound his arms around her legs and held her as he drew her inflamed clit into his mouth and began to suckle lightly. Brienne whimpered, but he gave her no chance to rue the loss of her dignity as he began suckling more aggressively, pushing his fingers back inside her, moving them in and out as before, harder and faster as she keened and her legs wrapped tightly around him. 

Brienne was already so close to the edge that it seemed only seconds before she was spiraling out of control, her broken cries of ecstasy wrung out of her as she shook and shuddered. Jaime continued thrusting with his hand, but lifted his head to watch her as she came, slowing his movements as her climax subsided. 

Jaime moved to lie beside her, holding her as she trembled against him. He’d made her come before, but not like this, not with such intensity.  

His mouth closed over hers, urgent kisses burning through her as they wrapped around each other. Jaime pulled away and rested his forehead against Brienne’s. 

“Now are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Brienne smiled, reaching up to wipe some moisture from her eyes, “I think I am.”

“I’ll try to go slow, my love,” Jaime whispered.

Brienne positioned herself in the middle of the big bed, not at all nervous. Her pulse was still racing from her climax as Jaime gently spread her thighs. His cock looked impossibly large to Brienne, but the thrill of fear that ran through her in no way dampened her desire.

Lowering his head between her legs again, Jaime lapped at her cunt, flicking his tongue against her clit; it didn’t take long at all before the insistent need flared up again and she moaned his name, nearly begging him to enter her. 

Jaime moved over her until his cock was nearly at her entrance. Their eyes locked as he balanced on his hand and forearm. He slipped his fingers inside of her, gathering some of the slick moisture there and spreading it over his cock, then rubbing the head of it from the top of her slit to her opening. He nudged forward and she felt her skin stretching as the hot tip of him entered her. Both of them gasped at the sensation.

“I love you,” Jaime said, the truth of it burning in his eyes.

“I am yours,” Brienne answered, her heart feeling so full of her love for him that she needed to catch her breath at the strength of the emotion. 

Jaime pushed further in, and Brienne felt a sharp pain. She did not flinch, but Jaime stopped, pulling back until his cock barely nudged her entrance. He’d felt her thin barrier tear, but at a nod from Brienne he pushed inside again, easing in even further. The effort not to thrust his cock into her had him panting, but he never looked away from her. Jaime’s cock against her aroused flesh muted much of the pain as Brienne felt her skin stretching to accommodate him. She hooked a leg over Jaime’s hip and pushed herself against him, urging him to enter her more.

He slid in more easily now and the feel of his hot, hard cock inside, filling her, made Brienne groan and reach up to push her fingers through Jaime’s hair, tugging lightly. Jaime had stopped short of pushing his cock in all the way, and he trembled as he held himself still so that Brienne could adjust to the feel of him inside. 

“You feel so good inside me,” Brienne told him huskily.

“Does it hurt?” 

“Some, but not enough to stop,” Brienne said, “Are you, um, especially large? I have seen little to compare you with…but I’ve seen other men from time to time, around camp…not that I _look_ , especially,”  

Jaime chuckled, “I know you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be. To tell you the truth, Wench, I don’t know for sure. Probably bigger than some, but not as big as others,” he said, thinking that all he had was Cersei’s word, and back then she had only been with Robert besides him. He wasn't about to tell Brienne that. “Not Dothraki big, for sure. And not Tyrion big; he’s practically legendary.”

“Oh, gods, I surely could have done without knowing that!” Brienne squeaked, “How will I look him in the eye now?” 

“True, he might notice if all you looked at was his crotch.”

Brienne pulled his hair harder, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jaime laughed, “Are you ready for more of me? I’m going to pass out if I have to stay still any longer.”

“There’s more?” Brienne said, her eyes wide.

“Not much,” Jaime groaned, and thrust the last inch or two in, making Brienne grunt in surprise. 

“All right?” Jaime asked.

She laughed, thinking of his _bigger than some, but not as big as others_ , “Yes,” she confirmed, determined not to show him that she was now feeling disconcertingly full of his cock. _I think I’m going to like this_ , she thought, _when it stops hurting_. 

And then Jaime began to move inside of her, and she forgot the pain. He pulled nearly all the way out and then pushed back in, slowly entering her to the hilt again. She’d heard lots of off-color jokes comparing cocks to swords and cunts to sheaths, but now she understood why those japes persisted. 

Jaime began to move again, his hips rocking into her as he found his rhythm and Brienne began to move with him, albeit a little out of time. He didn’t seem to mind, and she found that the feel of him sliding inside of her, of his balls and thighs against her when he thrust, was filling her senses as well, and she stopped _thinking_ about what they were doing and let herself _feel_ it, letting her instincts take over as they moved together in this dance so like sparring; step and slide, thrust and retreat and thrust again.

Soon both were moaning, Jaime thrusting faster and harder, his tempo faltering as he got closer to losing control. His eyes were closed, his face transformed by the ecstasy closing in on him. 

“Jaime, my love,” Brienne gasped, clutching his heaving shoulders, “I want to watch you as you come. It’s alright…just…”

With a last couple of uncontrolled thrusts he slammed into her, his stomach muscles clenching, his head thrown back in an almost silent roar of pleasure as he let go, shuddering against her as he spent himself. 

Jaime lowered himself to Brienne’s side, she turning in against him, wishing they could stay joined this way a little longer. When they both began to shiver as their skin cooled Brienne pulled the sides of the blanket up over them, not wanting to move even far enough to properly get under it. For a long time they lay there, murmuring to each other and touching. Jaime was the first to fall asleep, seemingly mid-sentence, and Brienne soon followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I certainly hope everyone was satisfied with this chapter. If it was good for you, please leave me a comment, short or long, average or otherwise...
> 
> Bonus points to...everyone! Thanks for reading.
> 
>   
>   
> Amazing fanart by Darynthe1  
> 


	25. Scrolls, Jaime POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That reminds me, there’s the bedding to think about,” Jaime said with a wicked grin.
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “It’s traditional.”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> Jaime laughed. “C’mon Bearenne, you don’t want a bunch of men to take off your clothes and throw you in bed with me?”
> 
> “Sure, if Cersei can be one of the women to take off your clothes.”
> 
> _Discussions of dragon training and weddings, oh my! Special guest appearance by Tyrion Lannister._

Jaime woke up first, opening his eyes to the glow of candlelight and hearth. Their chambers had no windows, but Jaime guessed it was some time in the late afternoon. For long moments he lay next to Brienne, savoring the dreamlike memory of the last few hours and watching her sleep. She looked like a woman who had just been well-loved; naked and sated, hair mussed and tangled around her like a skein of silk.

Easing off the bed, Jaime noticed how weak his legs felt when he stood. Leaving Brienne to doze, he went into the parlor to look at the scrolls he’d received.

Jaime sat down on the chair in front of the writing desk, the elaborate embroidery of the cushion unpleasantly scratchy on his naked skin. The scroll from Tobho Mott had been delivered by messenger rather than raven, and Mott’s familiar crossed daggers over flame sigil in gray wax made Jaime smile as he broke the seal. 

The scroll was smudged with soot and the message short, written in Toby’s blunt handwriting:

_Ser Jaime,_

_Moira and I look forward to meeting your warrior woman on the morrow, if that suits.  Come while there is still enough daylight to see the shop, and stay to dine with us in the evening._

_Tobho Mott_

Jaime grinned and set the note aside, thinking of Brienne’s face when she beheld the wonders of Toby’s forge. After the teasing he had taken from the smith and his wife about the wench, he looked forward to being able to introduce Brienne as his betrothed. 

Shifting in the seat and wondering if the idyllic harvest scene on the cushion would be indented in his ass when he got up, Jaime reached for the scroll from Lord Selwyn. For Brienne’s sake he hoped the scroll contained the Lord of Tarth’s consent to his betrothal request. Even though they intended to wed with or without her father’s blessing, Jaime knew she would prefer her father be pleased with her choice. 

There were two pieces to the scroll from the Evenstar: a protective outer scroll of waxed parchment bearing the embossed crescent moon and starbursts sigil of Tarth addressed to “Ser Jaime Lannister, the Red Keep” and an inner scroll.  Jaime unrolled the parchment inside just enough to set a small pot of ink on the top to keep it from curling while he used his hand to smooth out the rest.  
   
 _Ser Jaime Lannister,_

_I must admit to a sense of trepidation when Maester Grithern came from the rookery bearing no less than six scrolls from the Red Keep. To my relief, the first scroll I opened did not contain tidings of war or demands from the new Targaryen queen. Nor, thankfully, was it grave news about my beloved daughter._

_That it was a request for my consent to a betrothal between yourself and Brienne left me somewhat bemused. Fearing the remaining five scrolls might contain news of a more dire nature I set aside your scroll to open them as well._

_Imagine my amusement when all of them contained the same request._  
  
As I understand it, Ser Jaime, you and my Brienne have been inseparable for quite a long time. Astonished as I was to receive multiple ravens requesting permission to marry my daughter, I am more surprised that it took you this long.

_While the evident affection you bear for Brienne does you credit, I fear that I cannot consent to any betrothal for her. It is for Brienne to decide if she wishes to marry, and to whom._

_I look forward to receiving a (single) raven informing me of her decision. Please tell her that her old father misses her terribly._

_Lord Selwyn Tarth, Evenstar_

Below his signature he had added:

 _A seventh and, I hope, final, bedraggled raven has just arrived as well. Please tell Brienne the maester says the bird is expected to survive; I know she will be relieved._  
  
Jaime chuckled at this last bit; Lord Selwyn knew his daughter well. He got the feeling that he would enjoy having him as a good father. Gods be good, perhaps he would even get to meet him someday.

But for now he and Brienne needed to plan out their negotiations with the queen about training Viserion. Jaime opened the drawer of the writing desk looking for paper and saw the small packet Tyrion had left for them. Taking it out and unfolding the thin cloth, he beheld a small wooden box. Upon opening it he began to chuckle. The longer he thought about what his brother had seen fit to leave them the louder his laughter got. 

“Jaime?” Brienne asked, emerging from the bed chamber, gloriously naked and flushed with sleep, “What are you laughing about?”

Jaime looked over with a wide grin, not bothering to hide his thorough inspection of her as she paused between the bed chamber and the parlor. She looked for a moment like she would duck behind the draperies separating the rooms, but she smiled bashfully and walked over to him. No one would ever suspect the sure elegance Brienne moved with when she held a sword if they saw only her usual graceless gait. Jaime found it especially endearing that the obvious soreness between her legs from their bedding had made her steps somewhat ginger. 

He held up the box, biting his lip, “From Tyrion,” he said, “it’s Moon Tea and instructions on how to prepare it.”

Brienne put her hands on her hips, trying to look annoyed, but the smirk spreading over Jaime’s face soon had her shaking with laughter herself. 

“And how, _Ser_ _Jaime_ , does he know we suddenly need such a thing?”

Jaime looked sheepish as he peered up at her through the hair that had fallen over his brow; he well knew that Brienne could never resist this expression.

“I _might_ have mentioned that I was planning to ask you to marry me soon.”

“ _Go on_.”

“And he may have ferreted it out of me that we had never actually fucked before.”

“By the seven, Jaime,” Brienne said, “now I not only have the embarrassment of facing my future good brother after you’ve told me about his enormous cock, but I have to endure his knowing that we’ve just fucked for the first time as well?” 

“I could tell him there’s no need for the moon tea and give it back,” Jaime suggested.

Brienne groaned, “Keep the tea; it will save you the time and embarrassment of trying to get some for me later.”

“Why would _I_ be embarrassed?” Jaime asked, holding his hand out to her, “I was thinking I should make an announcement to the whole court that I have finally taken your maidenhead. Though no one would believe me; everyone thinks I besmirched you long ago.”

“You are as rotten as your little brother!” Brienne said, giving him her hand. 

Jaime pulled her onto his lap, nearly oversetting the chair. Brienne frantically tried to stand up again.

“Oh no, Wench, you’re not leaving,” Jaime said, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

“But we’ll break the chair!” she said, trying to wriggle away from him.

“These chairs are built to sustain the weight of very fat courtiers, so I think it can hold us,” he said, kissing her neck, “but if you keep rubbing your ass on my cock trying to get away we might have to put it to a use for which it was never really intended.”

Brienne felt him swelling against her and abruptly stopped struggling. 

“I didn’t say to _stop_ ,” Jaime murmured against her neck, “though if you would straddle me it would make it easier to…” 

“Um, maybe later,” Brienne said, trying to pull away. Jaime lowered his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth and she stuttered out, “Really, Jaime, my love, the scrolls? I’d like to know what my father wrote before you start trying to seduce me again…”

Jaime released her nipple with a wet-sounding smack, “So I can seduce you again _after_ you read the scroll? What are you waiting for then, Wench? Get off of me and I’ll bring it to the bed.”

Brienne stood up, frowning, “Maybe you could wait until after we decide what to tell the queen? How late do you think it is right now?”

Jaime stood, “Late enough that we should talk about that for a bit as well.” He looked ruefully down at his cock, “not like we aren’t used to waiting,” he said and gathered up Lord Selwyn’s scroll. 

Brienne tilted her head and considered him with a smile before leading the way back to the bed. She got under the covers and he followed, handing her the scroll as he slid in next to her.

Brienne unrolled the parchment and began to read, frowning a little when she saw her father had only received six of the seven scrolls, then smiling as she read the teasing way her father had answered Jaime. Her eyes were shining with emotion as she read that her father missed her; clearly she missed him as well. 

After reading the postscript about the final raven, she kissed Jaime on the cheek.  
“Lucky for you they all survived,” she said, “I'm also glad that my father has given his consent.”

“But he didn’t, really,” Jaime said, “He left that up to you.”

“You don’t know him yet, Sweetling; he only said that because he thought it would fool me into thinking he was giving me a choice. If he didn’t approve of the betrothal he would have said so. I can tell from his words that he is well pleased with you,” Brienne said, setting the scroll on the side table, “As am I.”

“Does he believe you would obey him if he’d refused my request?”

“It’s difficult to imagine him _not_ agreeing to a betrothal between us. He has probably been expecting you to write since the first time he heard a song about us. I do hope it wasn’t that really nasty one with the bear pelt…”

“Or the one where we were fucking on a horse while…”

“Ew, maybe it was the one where we’re supposedly sparring naked in front of all those…”

“Mm, I kinda like that one,” Jaime said, “I’ve always enjoyed picturing you naked when we spar.”

“Jaime!” Brienne said, laughing and pushing his arms away when he tried to pull her on top of him, “Nobody spars naked.”

“I didn’t say I pictured you sparring naked, I just said I picture you naked when we spar,” he grinned, still trying to pull her onto his chest. “Ever since that dream I had of you naked with a sword I just can’t help it. Watching you fight just makes me want you more.”

With a final tug and a little less resistance from Brienne he managed to position her so she was half lying across him, her wide eyes staring into his.  
  
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too, when we fight together,” Jaime said, stroking her tangled hair as he gazed into her eyes, “Whether we're fighting side by side or facing each other sparring. Tell me it’s never crossed your mind how good we’d be in bed together.”

“Jaime, I had to be drunk just to find the courage to kiss you. As often as I dreamed of doing more with you, imagining something I never thought to have with you… Sometimes it was just better not to think about it too much.” 

“I love you, Brienne,” Jaime said, “You know that, right? I don’t ever want you to doubt that you are the most beautiful, precious thing in the world to me, my future wife.”

Brienne smiled down at him, and Jaime felt warmed through, happier than he could remember. 

“I know we need to talk about the dragon, my love,” he said, “but maybe we should talk about getting married. Have you thought about our wedding?”

“I admit that I haven’t really,” Brienne said, “I know that sounds bad, but I’m not like most girls that way. I was never one to imagine what my wedding would be like. Dresses and decorations always seemed so tedious to me.”

Jaime laughed, “Maybe we could get married in our armor, then. I think we’d be the first. I’m sorry that your father won’t be able to travel to see you wed, though.”

“He could come if we waited until winter ended,” Brienne mused.

Jaime looked worried, “Surely you don’t want to wait that long, do you?”

“No, Sweetling. I just wish he could see us wed. How soon do you think we should get married?”

“A couple of years ago?” Jaime said a little wistfully, shifting her off his chest so they could lie facing each other, “I'd like us to be married before we travel north again.”

“Depending on the dragon training, that would be very soon,” Brienne said, “but I don’t know where we would get married. I certainly don’t want to get married in the sept where you last fucked Cersei.”

“I love how subtle you are, Brienne,” Jaime said sarcastically, “but you’re right; neither do I.”

“Nor in the Sept of Baelor, where you stood vigil for your father. I fancy even I could detect the lingering smell there. Does it really have to be in a sept at all?”

“It would be the proper thing to do,” Jaime said.

“And we are nothing if not proper,” Brienne teased.

“True, but I still want to do things right. I wish we had more time to plan.”

“But we don’t,” Brienne sighed, “I’d rather spend the time we do have alone together in a comfortable bed.”

“That reminds me, there’s the bedding to think about,” Jaime said with a wicked grin.

“No.”

“It’s traditional.”

“ _No_.”

Jaime laughed. “C’mon Bearenne, you don’t want a bunch of men to take off your clothes and throw you in bed with me?”

“Sure, if Cersei can be one of the women to take off your clothes.”

“It might go poorly if she saw how hard I’d get seeing you in bed naked, waiting for me.”

“There might be a tugging contest over your cock,” Brienne speculated.

“You’d win.”

“That I would. I’m stronger.”

Jaime started to laugh, “And then while everyone was waiting outside the door I’d make you come so hard you’d scream for all to hear,”

“Maybe I’d make you scream first,” Brienne said, and Jaime could see by how her eyes darkened that just talking about bedding him was making her aroused.

“Mm,” Jaime said, staring into her eyes, “Let’s see, I think I’d start by just kissing you on the mouth, teasing you with my tongue until you opened up and let me taste you. You’d already be naked, like now, so I’d be able to feel your nipples against me, just waiting for me to suck them while I pressed my cock against you…” 

“I know what you’re doing, Jaime,” Brienne said, “you just want to see if saying things like that will rouse me to lust.”

“Well, you’re breathing hard, your skin is flushed, and,” Jaime lifted the covers, “your nipples are so hard and pink they’re just begging to be licked. I’d say it’s working. I bet if I slipped my fingers in your cunt you’d already be wet and ready for me. _Are_ you as hot for it as I think you are?”

“Damn you.”

Jaime leaned back with his arms behind his head, smiling. 

“We have things we should be talking about, Jaime,” Brienne said in exasperation.

“We _are_ talking, my love.”

“Dragons, Jaime, we’re supposed to talk about that. I have to give my answer to the queen.”

“Right,” Jaime said mournfully, “I don’t think I can concentrate on dragons with you naked beside me, looking like you need to be fucked.”

“Let’s get dressed then. Negotiating with the queen is important; let’s see if we can make it work to our advantage.”

“You’re right,” Jaime said reluctantly and got out of bed, “let’s work on this in the parlor so you can write our ideas down.”

Brienne agreed and got up to dress as well, “Do you want to send for some wine? I’ll be out in a minute.”

 

By the time the wine arrived they had dressed and Brienne was sitting at the desk busily writing down their ideas. Jaime set a glass at her elbow and stretched out on the couch with his wine. Brienne soon had several sheets of paper covered with anything they could think of that training a dragon might entail, along with several requests and demands to present to Daenerys.

Jaime was watching Brienne as she wrote and scratched out items on her list, chewing on the end of the quill when she was thinking. He loved seeing her like this, unself-conscious and relaxed. It was easy to picture other evenings like this, when the winter was over and they could just _be_.

“Jaime, have you heard of Dragon Horns?”

“On their heads? Sure.” He said, “Why do you ask?”

“Not the ones on their heads. I remember reading that there were horns that were used to control dragons.”

“That sounds like a good idea. We should get one.” Jaime said, draining his glass and pouring another.

“They’re rare, and I think they’re quite deadly if used wrong.” Brienne said, holding out her wine glass for more.

“How inconvenient,” Jaime said, getting up to fill her glass.

“But it makes me wonder if some other kind of horn or musical instrument might be used for training,” she said as Jaime looked over her shoulder at the list.

“It’s a dragon, Sweetling, not a dog or a bird,” he rested his hand on her shoulder, “why have you written ‘cat’?”

“You know how sometimes a horse does better for having a companion of another species? Usually a goat or something?”

“Yes,” Jaime said dubiously.

“I’m sure a dragon would eat a goat, but maybe a cat…”

“Would be tasty as well?” Jaime finished for her, “Anyway, the queen won’t need to help us with something like that. Maybe you should take a break so we can look at what you have so far.”

Brienne gathered her notes and followed him to the couch. Once they were settled next to each other she held up the first piece of paper, which had “Conditions” written across the top.

“Condition one,” she said, “ _Ser Jaime Lannister will be involved in any capacity necessary for me to train the dragon, at my discretion. Two: If the Silver Army marches before dragon training is complete, Ser Jaime will stay behind with me until we can travel together,_ ”

“She’s going to suspect you have a thing for me,” Jaime remarked.

“Or you do for me,” Brienne said, “but I don’t have to list it separately, do I?”

Jaime laughed and kissed her ear, “No; where I go, it goes.”

“Three,” Brienne continued, “ _I am to have complete control on how the dragon is trained, with no restrictions or interference_.”

“She won’t like that; it’s too vague.” 

“It needs to be. I don’t know yet what I’ll need or want to do, but I can’t have her constantly questioning and having to approve everything. If I let her have some say in how Viserion is trained she’ll be having him do carnival tricks instead of setting Walkers on fire. If I have to fly him in battle someday I need him to obey me.”

“I don’t like the idea of you flying him in battle while I’m on the ground,” Jaime said, “Can you add something in about having someone else fly him instead?”

“I want to teach him to accept other riders,” Brienne told him, “but I don’t need to tell Daenerys that yet. The less we give her to think about, the less she’ll interfere.”

“I don’t like it, Brienne.”

“I know you don’t, my love. But we don’t have much choice, and this gives us some power where we had none before. If I can get Viserion to bond to me, we have something to negotiate with later.”

“Besides, you really want to ride the beast, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t any girl? It may be silly, but the idea of riding into battle like Visenya Targaryen did is exciting,” Brienne said, turning to grin at Jaime,  “It’s kind of your fault; you can’t give a girl a beautiful Valyrian steel sword like Oathkeeper and expect her not to want to swing it from the back of a dragon.”

“I will admit the thought of seeing you up there with that sword, in your armor... You don’t suppose people can fuck on the back of a dragon, do you?”

“ _That_ would be one for the songs,” Brienne said, a triumphant light in her eyes, “we could commission a special saddle…”

“Don’t tease, Wench,”

“Mm, who’s teasing?” she said and shifted until she was on top of Jaime, her arms around his neck, “Wouldn’t you like to ride a dragon someday?”

“So now you _are_ a dragon? Because I could ride you all - “ Jaime started to say, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Brienne laughed at the look on his face, equal parts amusement and frustration. She sat back so Jaime could go answer the door. 

Tyrion stood on the other side, holding a flagon of wine and three wine cups held by their stems in one hand. He grinned up at his brother.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked, trying to peer around Jaime.

“No, luckily for you,” Jaime said cheerfully, stepping aside so he could enter, “and we were almost out of wine; I’m glad you brought some to share.”

Tyrion sketched a little bow to Brienne, holding the flagon out for her to take, “My lady,” he said, “last I saw you, rum was your drink of choice. However, as we have important matters to discuss I thought you might appreciate something a little _milder_.”

Brienne looked up at Jaime, who was watching the two of them with amusement. 

She narrowed her eyes, “How much would you hate me if I killed your little brother?” she asked.

Both men guffawed at once, and the resemblance between them couldn’t have been clearer. Jaime ruffled Tyrion’s hair, and he tried to dodge the gesture.

“He’ll soon be your brother as well, Sweetling,” Jaime said, raising his eyebrows at her, “Sadly, you wouldn’t be the first sister to threaten his life.”

“Ah! Does that mean what I hope it does?” Tyrion said, setting down the glasses next to the ones Jaime and Brienne had been drinking from. He looked up at Jaime, who nodded, his happiness so clearly written across his face that Brienne and Tyrion found themselves grinning with him, all teasing forgotten for the moment. 

Tyrion stepped over to Brienne and hugged her fiercely. 

“Welcome to the most fucked up family in Westeros, sister,” he said. 

If Brienne was taken aback by his enthusiasm she quickly recovered and hugged the little man back, “Thank you, Tyrion. For everything.”

When Tyrion stepped away he said, “I am certainly glad to have gotten this news while you were seated, my lady, for had you been standing that could have been the most awkward brother-sister hug ever,” he paused, waiting for Jaime and Brienne to picture it, “Well, maybe not _the_ most awkward brother – sister…”

“Don’t spoil this,” Jaime warned.

Tyrion laughed and turned to pour wine into the fresh glasses and hand them around. He seated himself in one of the chairs across from the couch and Jaime sat back down next to Brienne.

“Have you told anyone else of your betrothal?” Tyrion asked.

“No, we’ve not left the room since my lady accepted my proposal,” Jaime said, then rolled his eyes upon seeing the knowing smirk on Tyrion’s face, “Get your mind out of the moat, little brother.”

Tyrion tried to compose his face, but the grin kept sliding back into place, “As you wish, Jaime. Have you decided who is to know about this?”

“Who? Why, should it be a secret that we’re to marry?” Jaime asked.

“Maybe,” Tyrion suggested, “Many people already assume that you’re married, including Daenerys. I can think of a couple of ways she might react to the news; she will either be very excited and expect to plan a large, gaudy wedding in the Royal Sept with dragon-themed décor and fermented mare’s milk confections for the reception, along with a _very_ public bedding ceremony, _or_ she’ll see it as another bit of leverage to get Brienne to train Viserion.”

“I’ve already decided to train Viserion,” Brienne said.

“Ah, the wedding it is,” Tyrion said dryly. 

“No!” Jaime and Brienne said together.

“Also, there is Cersei’s reaction to think about,” Tyrion said, “She’s already tried to part you; what happens if you make her really desperate? Were you planning to invite her to the wedding? That sounds like fun, _especially_ if it’s held in the Royal Sept.”

“Fuck,” mumbled Jaime.

“Exactly,” said Tyrion.

“All right,” Brienne said, “so for now we don’t announce our betrothal. We can tell some people, can’t we?”

“If you trust them,” Tyrion said, “I imagine Loras and Dwayne would love to be your flower girls. Especially Loras, with that Tyrell flower thing and all. Are you sure you don’t want Dany to plan your wedding? I’m sure she could design you a lovely dress, she’s quite fond of belly button cut-outs you know.”

“Tyrion, not that we’re not glad to see you, and grateful for the room and the, uh, _gift_ , in the drawer, but did you just come by to taunt us?” Brienne said.

Tyrion picked up the flagon of wine and added more to all of their glasses, “I actually came here to ask what you’ve decided about training Viserion, Brienne. So, I can tell the queen you’ve decided to do it?” 

“With conditions,” Jaime said, “If she really wants that dragon trained and has to put Brienne in danger, she needs to agree to a few things first.”

“I’d hoped you might have thought about that. I can talk to Dany for you; she might listen to me. What are your conditions?”

Brienne handed him the paper with their first three conditions on it. Tyrion read it over, frowning, “She's probably expecting you to demand that you and Jaime not be separated in any way, but this part about complete autonomy over the training might alarm her.”

“Use your influence, then,” Jaime said, “convince her it's to her benefit to leave it up to Brienne.”

“You might be over-estimating my influence over the queen,”

“Try.”

“I promise I will try. Do you have other demands?” Tyrion said.

“We have other ‘requests,’ things I need to train Viserion.” Brienne said, “I’d like Lavakhat and Hemikh to be my assistants. I’ll need a dedicated farrier and a leathersmith to help design and build saddle and tack for Viserion. We can find the right people to make what we need, but the queen needs to be willing to pay for whatever that may be.”

Tyrion nodded, “That sounds reasonable. Good idea involving the Dothrakis; she’ll like that.”

“They’re good men,” said Brienne, “We'll need sleeping quarters and food in the house by the dragon pit, since we'll be there at odd times. I also need someone, maybe a maester, to look for information on past dragon riders. If there are any drawings of Visenya, Rhaenys or Aegon riding their dragons maybe we can use them to guide us in designing the gear we’ll need. Any stories and information from the age of dragon riders would be useful.”

“I don’t think we even need to ask the queen about that. What else?”

“She isn’t going to like this, but I need her to stay away from Viserion. He needs to bond to me. Right now he sees her as his indulgent mother. When I ask him to do things he doesn’t care to do I want him to know that all food and affection comes from me; that he needs to please me.”

“You’re right, that will be hard for her. She should see the logic of it though.”

“The last thing I’m not too sure about,” Brienne said, “She said Rhaegal was wilder and more dangerous, but if I can win him over I might want to use him in the training, perhaps even teach him as well. I just need her consent to work with him.”

“Working with Viserion is dangerous enough, my love,” Jaime said, putting his hand over hers, “I really don’t want you to risk working with the other dragon. He’s a killer.”

“They’re all killers,” Tyrion said darkly.

“You can still back out, Brienne,” Jaime said earnestly, “We can find a way around the queen’s punishment somehow.”

Brienne shook her head, “I can do this, Jaime. _We_ can do this. Think of what a difference it will make to the battle to have a dragon against the Others! A dragon that I control. This could turn the battle in our favor.”

Jaime crossed his arms and looked sullen, but he nodded. 

Tyrion drained his glass, “I’ll tell the queen,” he said, standing, "Walk me to the door, brother?" Tyrion gave Brienne a sincere smile, "I really couldn't be happier for you both," he said.

"Thank you, Tyrion. You and I still don't have a truce, though."

"No fooling you, at least this time," he said.

Jaime got up to walk him to the door. Once there Jaime crouched down to hug his brother.

"So, things went well, I take it?" Tyrion asked quietly.

"She came to be with me in Traitor's Walk after she left Dryp and Loras. Thank you for getting us a place of our own away from Cersei and the Maidenvault."

"And the moon tea?"

"Was presumptuous of you."

Tyrion laughed, "And timely. I can tell by looking at you both that she is the Maid of Tarth no more."

"Oh, you can not," Jaime huffed.

"Perhaps not, though the way you're blushing and trying not to smile is answer enough. Also, Brienne's hair certainly didn't get that tangled from sleeping."

"Get out," Jaime laughed, giving Tyrion a push. Tyrion waved as he ambled back down the corridor and Jaime chuckled, happy he and his brother could push each other around again.

He shut the door and went back to Brienne.

"The rest of the night is ours, my lady," he said, "What would you like to do?"

Brienne stood up and leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Would it be too much to ask for fresh bath water to soak in? I believe your _bigger than some_ cock has left me rather sore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter it's off to the dragon pit for Jaime to meet Viserion and then on to Toby Mott's forge for an evening of revelry and (probably) baby spit.
> 
> I greatly appreciate all of your comments, of whatever size or content. You have no idea how much I depend on them to get me going on the next chapter. They're like yummy little nuggets of chocolate, and without them I go into withdrawal and gnaw the scenery and stomp around like a wild thing, and my keyboard hides from me. Also, in the absence of chocolate I eat too many sunflower seeds, and that just makes me all dried out and thirsty.
> 
> So...pretty please with chocolate sprinkles on top (but no maraschino cherries - I hate those things) - comment
> 
> Also, I will probably do a picture of Lord Selwyn's scroll, but I wanted to get this posted first. The wind is blowing and our power may go out.
> 
> Postscript: I am adoring all of your comments, but waiting to answer until I'm into the next chapter. Each time I get a new comment I do a little happy dance. Consensus seems to be in favor of a cat, and you never have to twist my arm about putting a cat in the story (I promise I won't kill the cat). You guys have great ideas and they do affect what I write sometimes. I wonder what kind of saddle a cat would need for riding a dragon? Too bad (credit to my mom for this) there aren't direcats.


	26. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime and Brienne spend more time in their chambers and then break their fast in the dining hall, where some dodgy items are on the menu.
> 
> First POV is Brienne's, and then Jaime's. Yes, they're indicated in **bold**.  
>  For those so inclined, there is smut to be had. For those that prefer silly humor, there's that. Want some backstory? Got that as well. For those looking for plot progression, better luck next chapter.
> 
> 9000 words or so. Extra special, super duper thanks to SandwichesYumYum for reading, making suggestions, and commenting in a most amusing manner. You're my favorite purveyor of biscuits.

**Brienne POV  
**

"The rest of the night is ours, my lady," Jaime said, "What would you like to do?"

Brienne whispered in his ear, "Would it be too much to ask for fresh bath water to soak in? I believe your _bigger than some_ cock has left me rather sore."

Jaime considered her request. She could tell he was trying hard to look sincere and concerned, but his eyes were alight with amusement. He bit his lip to keep from smiling.

Brienne knew this expression well. It had always made her heart flutter, even back when she’d been escorting him away from Riverrun. The way he’d been able to insult her while still looking so damned appealing vexed her then, just as it did now. 

There’d been a time, after they’d hacked off his paw, when it seemed he would never wear that cocky expression again. It had torn at her heart to see what else his maiming had cost him. 

The first time she’d experienced his cutting humor again was on their way to King’s Landing with Bolton’s men. He’d made some jape at her expense; Brienne could hardly remember what it was. Some sardonic reference to the dream he’d had, or something about her being naked as she’d helped him dress after their bath, probably. It hadn’t really mattered; the light was back in his eyes and Brienne had been relieved to see it. He’d been fond of mentioning her nudity, knowing it made her blush, becoming even _more_ awkward and nervous. 

After they’d defeated Lady Stoneheart and she’d nearly died from her wounds, Jaime had been subdued and humble around her, giving up teasing her for a couple of weeks at least. Even when he cautiously started taunting her again he had ceased needling her for her nudity altogether.

Maybe teasing her about being naked had been a little too close to the bone once they began sleeping in the same bedroll as they traveled. Waking up with your cock hard against a girl’s arse could make you think twice of such a jest when you weren’t prepared to deal with the awkwardness that ensued. His smile had returned, though; Jaime seemed happy and he was being _nice_. It had confused Brienne thoroughly.

Brienne wasn’t sure when he’d become easy around her again, but gradually he began to pester her with his wit again. She learned to parry his barbs until the bantering rapport between them became so obvious that most people around them assumed they were already married. 

Now they truly were betrothed, but the bedding before the wedding had left her tender, and the unaccustomed stickiness between her thighs made her yearn for a warm soak in the big copper tub.  

“Another bath, my lady? Jaime said, allowing himself to smirk at her, “I think that might be managed. My apologies for making you sore. I’m afraid it was unavoidable.” 

“Do you think the bath boys will be terribly annoyed to empty and refill the tub so soon?” she asked.

Jaime laughed, “Had you grown up in Casterly Rock you would never have questioned whether a servant was annoyed or not. But do not fret: those were some of Daenerys’s unsullied warriors that brought the water. They have little enough to do in the Red Keep just now, and some of them prefer to serve inside where it’s warm.”

“Had I been privileged enough to grow up in Casterly Rock I imagine I’d still worry about how the servants felt. I think that sort of entitlement just comes naturally to the Lannisters,” Brienne told him.

“I suppose it does,” Jaime admitted, “Will I be expected to be meek and accommodating around the servants when we live on Tarth? What’s your father like as a Lord?”

“He is well respected, of course. I don’t think he would ever question his place or that of a servant. I never had his confidence. My septa made sure of that.”

“Ah, the redoubtable Septa Roelle. Is she still at Evenfall?”

“I believe so.”

“I shall look forward to terrorizing her, then,” Jaime said, “and she will never be allowed in the same room with any of our children.”

Brienne chuckled and kissed his ear, “I love you so, my Jaime.”

“How fortunate for me then, since I am the cause of your current malady”

“It isn’t so bad. It was well worth any discomfort.”

“You enjoyed it then?” 

_Such a lion, seeking his praise_ , Brienne thought, _which he well deserves_ , “It was quite tolerable,” she said.

“Wench. I’ll show you ‘ _tolerable_.’” Jaime groused, suddenly bending to wrap his strong arms around her thighs and hoist her over his shoulder. “Pretty sure it could have been better,” he grunted, carrying her back into the bed chamber as she laughed and beat her fists against his back. 

He paused before the bed, his legs set wide for balance, “We could both use more practice, don’t you think?”

Brienne wriggled to get out of his grip, but he held fast, easily supporting her weight.

“ _Don’t you think_?” he repeated.

Brienne was breathless with laughter, “Put me _down_ ,” she gasped. 

Jaime was laughing as well. He moved his hand up to one cheek of her butt and pinched it.

“Ow!” she cried, outraged, “That’s it, Lannister!” She grabbed his rear with both hands and squeezed.

“Is that supposed to bother me?” Jaime chuckled, “Because you can do that all night long and I’ll never complain.”

Moving her hands caressingly up his bottom, Brienne found the waist of his breeches and pulled up as hard as she could. Jaime swiftly flung her onto the big bed, where she landed with a _whump_. Before she could catch her breath he was on top of her, holding her down with his weight. 

They grinned at each other. Few people were aware of Jaime’s playful side, but Brienne knew it well. Their occasional tussling had sometimes been physical, but never quite so intimate. Having him lying on top of her now, obviously aroused, gave her no cause for complaint.

She reached up to push his hair back from his eyes. Jaime took her other hand and brought it to his lips, a courtly gesture if not for the way he trailed his lips over her knuckles and kissed the tip of each finger. 

Jaime pressed the palm of her hand against his heart, and the way he looked at Brienne sent a fleeting ache through her chest at the intensity of his gaze. This love for each other was not new; the way they expressed it was. 

Jaime was unusually quiet and still, almost studious, looking down at her. Brienne knew it wouldn’t last long, and it didn’t. He brought her hand back to his mouth and nibbled on one of her fingernails, then tore at a rough edge of it with his teeth. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Chewing your fingernails for you,” he said as though it were obvious. 

She supposed it was. He sometimes chewed his own, an inelegant habit when he was bored or nervous.

“Why are you chewing _my_ fingernail?”

“It needed it. Look how ragged it is.” He said, holding her finger up. “I’ve only had half as many nails to chew for a long time. Now what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.” 

He ripped off the crescent of nail and Brienne yelped. Jaime examined her fingertip, which was raw where he’d made the nail too short.

“Sorry,” he said, and put her finger in his mouth, sucking on it lightly. 

Brienne was torn between annoyance and amusement. She tried to take her finger back but Jaime held fast. He drew more of it into his mouth and she was caught off guard at how it felt as he lightly sucked, moving it in and out of his mouth slowly. He switched to another finger and she forgot to protest. It was only a finger, gods be good, why was she feeling it tingle all the way down to her core?

By the third finger her breathing was as ragged as the nail had been. The warmth between her legs centered where she felt Jaime rigid against her. He was smiling as he slowly slid the finger from his mouth and blew on the tip, making her shiver. Jaime lifted himself off of her chest a little, putting more of his weight at his hips, pressing him harder into the cradle of Brienne’s thighs.

The look he was giving her left no doubt of his intentions. There would be no bath for a while yet, that look told her. She knew her face hid nothing of just how little inclined she was to argue. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her. If he was surprised at the fierceness of her kiss he didn’t show it. He matched her urgency with his own, moaning against her mouth. Brienne’s hands were everywhere, trying to touch every bit of him she could reach. 

She pulled his shirt up his back, then ran her nails over his bare skin when she couldn’t push it past his shoulders. They got to their knees and Brienne tugged his shirt over his head. Jaime put his hand and stump under her shirt, pulling it off with her help. 

The hunger in Jaime’s eyes was different than it had been earlier. His restraint was gone. Brienne could tell that this would be no gentle exploration, no tender introduction like before. The strength of his desire sent hers soaring. 

They explored with lips and tongues and teeth scraping over sensitive skin. Brienne unlaced Jaime’s thin breeches and her own and they toppled back onto the mattress tugging and pushing off the rest of their clothes. 

Jaime slipped his tongue into Brienne’s mouth, kissing her deeply while reaching down between her folds to dip two fingers inside her and slide moisture up to her nub and began teasing it, rubbing on it and around it and then back down to her entrance. She reached down and curled her fingers around his cock and began stroking up and down firmly, using her thumb to caress the sensitive ridge beneath as she’d done before. Her movements felt a little awkward, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t mind as he shifted his hips closer to her. 

Brienne closed her eyes, the feel of Jaime’s hand between her thighs and his thick shaft alive in her fingers was intoxicating. His tongue in her mouth caressing hers as she moaned and tried to suck it in deeper was driving her close to the edge. When Jaime groaned loudly and jerked against her hand she felt herself begin to shake with the beginnings of her release. 

“Are you too sore for me?” Jaime asked, burying his face in her hair to still the tremors rolling through him. His voice was rough with need. 

 “No. I want you. I need you, Jaime,” Brienne gasped, clamping her thighs around his hand as a shudder of pleasure shook her. She was so close. _Oh gods, whatever you do, don’t stop now_ , she thought, but said. “We might need to get a towel. I don’t want to ruin the blanket.”

“You didn’t bleed before, did you?” Jaime said, pulling back to look at her.

“I did, but not enough to get it on the bed, only on me. I fear it may flow more if we fuck again.”

“I’ll get a towel, Sweetling. Are you’re sure you want this, right now?”  
  
 _Don’t stop now, Jaime! Just don’t stop what you’re doing!_ Her body raged. “I think I might be able to tolerate it, barely, since you need the practice,” Brienne said, clenching her teeth against frustrated need as he got off the bed. _Fool_ , she chastised herself, _you stopped him for a towel? Next time just ruin the damn bed_.  
  
Jaime bit back a grin and went into the tub’s alcove, which still glowed with candlelight flickering and reflecting off the cool water. He took a towel from the shelf and brought it back, spreading it on the bed with a flourish.  
  
Brienne smiled at his gentle humor and settled onto the cloth. Jaime kneeled next to her.  
  
“I want to make you come first,” he said, “You might feel less discomfort that way.”  
  
Brienne almost laughed at his gallantry. She was so ready she was panting, and his cock was standing out so hard and flushed she knew he’d like nothing better than to have it inside her. She wanted that too, but she wasn’t going to refuse what he offered.  
  
She spread her legs and Jaime slid two fingers inside her.  
  
“Gods, you’re so…” he sighed, “I want you so badly, Wench. I always will.”  
  
He caressed her cunt, and he knew he was touching her where and how she wanted when she moaned and began rocking her hips for him. Jaime lay down beside her, kissing her. As he brought her closer and closer to losing control, her lips and tongue grew more aggressive against his until she pulled away completely, breathlessly shuddering and straining against his hand. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked it in hard pulses until she came completely undone.  
  
Jaime moved between her legs while she was still trembling with her release. His cock pushed into her wetness, and the pleasure it was opening inside made her want to weep. She wrapped her legs around him and held onto the hard muscles in his upper arms as he slowly stroked in and out; a sensuous friction that was far from painful.  
  
As much as she enjoyed and appreciated the pace he’d set, it didn’t match the intensity of only moments ago. Brienne wasn’t sure how or if she should tell him she didn’t need him to be so considerate this time. Could she say she wanted him to go faster, be more forceful? _Maybe_ …  
  
“Harder,” she said, feeling foolish. Jaime was so focused on keeping himself reined in that he seemed not to hear. “ _Jaime_ ,” she said a little louder. He slowed even more and looked at her with concern. “I said ‘harder’. Fuck me _harder_.”  
  
Jaime chuckled and thrust into her so hard she grunted.  
  
“Like that?” he grinned.  
  
She nodded and he did as she’d asked. Her ability to think vanished as she held on tightly. Her knight let his passion take over, moving inside of her like a battering ram as her walls clenched around him and the world spun with them at the center of it.  
  
After a long time and no time at all, Jaime faltered and dug his hand into her hip, putting his weight on his muscular forearm as his thrusts became wilder, until at last he rammed his shaft home and groaned loudly as he shook with the power of his  release.  
  
Somewhere between a laugh and a cry, Brienne said his name and held him against her. She felt overwhelmed; her heart so full of emotion that she could do no more than murmur _Jaime_ , _Jaime_ , into his hair as he lazily kissed and nuzzled her neck.  
  
When she was able to speak, she said, “We should have done this _years_ ago.”  
  
Jaime laughed, sending vibrations along the skin of her neck until she was giggling as well.  
  
“We’ll just have to do a lot of this to make up for lost time,” he said, kissing her lips and then her nose.  
  
“And for practice,” she reminded him, “though I would say this time might have been a _bit_ better than ‘tolerable.’”  
  
“A _bit_ better? I think you moaned so loudly they must have heard you throughout the holdfast.”  
  
“They must have heard you all the way to King’s Landing then, for you roared like a lion.”  
  
“You make me roar like a lion, my love,” Jaime said, finally allowing himself to slip out of her as he rolled to the side, stretching himself like a big cat as she watched. His sinuous beauty was even more pronounced when he was nude like this; the long muscles in his thighs, his sculpted chest and belly, the enticing line the muscles above his slim hips drew down to his groin. The fluid strength of his body fascinated her, as it had from the first time she’d fought him.  
  
Seeing the way she was watching him, Jaime smiled enticingly and snugged up next to her, rubbing his cheek against hers with a satisfied hum. _He’s so like a cat_ , Brienne mused, _marking me, claiming me. If he had whiskers he would lick them and then run his single front paw back through his mane to tame it_.  
  
She smiled at the image she’d conjured, wondering if he would purr if she scratched him behind his ears.  
  
“Shall I call for your bath now?” he asked, running his forearm down her side and over her hip. Brienne thought that maybe she would be the one to purr as he hooked his arm over her thigh and pulled her leg over his.  
  
A bath sounded so nice, yet like so much bother, at the same time. The heady, musky smell of sex and arousal lingered on them and in the room, and she found it oddly comforting.  
  
“Soon. Right now I just want to get under the covers with you and sleep a little. It’s been a big day,” she told him, rolling herself off the bed to pull the covers back.  
  
“A big day?” Jaime smirked, “just because we got betrothed, and fucked for the first time…”  
  
“Yes, a big day. Bigger than some,” she noted coyly.  
  
Jaime got off the bed, taking the towel with him. He held it up, examining the diluted blood stains on it. He took a deep breath, some emotion holding him still as he looked at her. It meant something, taking her maidenhead. He might joke and preen, but Brienne sensed a subtle change in him, because she felt it in herself, too.  
  
Jaime carried the towel back to the alcove and folded it carefully, hiding the blood stains to spare her modesty when the servants collected the laundry. He came back and slid in beside her under the covers. As nice as the bed in the Maidenvault had been, this one seemed even better.  
  
Brienne turned onto her side and Jaime curled around her as usual, his right arm draped over her waist as she hugged his stump against her. Jaime began to snore within moments. Brienne didn’t hear him; she was already asleep.  


  
**Jaime POV**   


  
They slept through the night, waking to the dim glow of the few candles still burning. The fire in the hearth was nothing but grey ash in the grate. Jaime stuck his head out of the covers, felt the chill on his nose, and burrowed back under like a bear too early out of hibernation. He pressed his cold nose against Brienne’s shoulder and she jabbed his ribs with her sharp elbow.  
  
He was tempted to leave his feet out of the covers long enough to get icy and then use them to annoy Brienne, but they would face enough cold in the north without voluntarily freezing now. Instead, he brushed her hair away from her neck and kissed her. She grunted and turned over, her body fitting against his, her skin warm and soft. She tucked her head under his chin. For all that she was a little taller than him standing, in bed she seemed to enjoy the illusion that she was just a little bit shorter. Just enough to lay her head on his chest or nestle her face into his neck.  
  
Jaime was never bothered that she was a little taller than him standing. He’d stood taller than most men since he was in his teens, so Brienne’s height did not make him feel inadequate as it did some other men. He’d noticed that often the shorter the man the more pugnacious they tended to act toward with her. It always delighted him to see her look down her crooked nose at such men with a mixture of pity and scorn. He knew her well enough to know there was an edge of self-consciousness there as well, but she’d learned not to let it show.  
  
Holding her now as she slowly woke up, Jaime savored the solid feel of her. Beneath the smooth freckled flesh her vibrant strength came through, powerful and sleek. Parts of her were pleasantly plump: her small but rounded breasts, the plush curve of her ass, and the soft, womanly swell beneath the wavy hair of her thatch. He fervently wished they could stay in their chambers all day, doing nothing more than learning each other better.  
  
Jaime thought of the wound on Brienne’s inner thigh, the one she’d nearly bled out from after their fight with Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners. He’d longed to see it and kiss it to assure himself that it was truly healed, even though he knew it had been no more than a scar for a long time.  
  
He remembered it vividly from the Quiet Isle, the short, deep gash so close to her groin and the large vein there that a finger’s breadth in any direction would have finished her. He’d struggled desperately to bind it with only the one hand and his teeth as she lay unconscious in a pool of her own blood outside that devil’s cave. Everyone else had been unconscious or dead. Finally, with her wound bound tightly with cloth torn from his shirt, he’d managed to drape her over a horse. The blood, unable to slow and thicken under the jouncing of the animal, soaked through successive bindings. Even the horse had looked like it had taken a wound from the streaks of blood down its sides.  
  
The Penitent Brothers had saved her, thank the gods. When she was fit to travel again he’d insisted on changing her dressings when they camped, despite Brienne’s modesty. The image of it stayed with him, a raw, relatively small-looking cut that had almost taken her from him. After a few days on the road Brienne had deemed herself well enough to see to her own wound. He’d never seen it fully healed.  
  
He’d forgotten to look for it when he’d had the chance. Now that he was thinking about it he wanted to turn Brienne onto her back and find it. It must have healed cleanly; surely he would have noticed it otherwise.  
  
Instead of waking her, Jaime got out of the bed and pulled the rope to summon a servant. When the young man came he ordered a fresh bath, a kettle of hot water and a mug, emphasizing the need to be quiet and not wake his lady.  
  
While waiting for attendants to arrive he made sure to cover Brienne with the blanket to protect her modesty. Within moments the Unsullied arrived with buckets to empty the tub, while an elderly woman came to start a warm fire in the hearth. Everything was efficiently and quietly done, and soon he was able to steep tea for Brienne as the bath was refilled and fresh candles lit. The scent of lavender rose with the steam and drifted into the bedroom, which was still somewhat chilly.  
  
Alone again with Brienne, Jaime brought the tea he’d brewed and set it on the side table, then took off his clothes and snuggled back under the covers with her. He wanted to kiss her awake slowly and then surprise her with the bath. Soon enough there would be no more gentle mornings to linger together like this.  
  
Before long they would be back to sleeping during the frigid half-light of day with only a pile of furs between them and the frozen ground. They would wake and arm in darkness, gulping their tasteless food and preparing to exhaust themselves in another grim battle.  
  
They would miss this. Jaime pulled Brienne against him. She yawned and nudged him with her nose, wriggling as close to him as she could.  
  
“ _Brrr,_ you’re cold, my love,” she said sleepily, “Thank you for having the bath filled for me. You’ll make someone a fine husband someday.”  
  
Jaime chuckled, “I might at that, Sweetling. I hope to find a wife who deserves me.”  
  
“Mmm, if you look very hard, and are very lucky, the Gods might find one for you. Though she might not be what you were expecting.”  
  
“Perhaps not. I was hoping for a woman with a few leagues on her, with hair of gold and a snarky wit. Oh, and she’d have to be taller than me, obviously.”  
  
“You might be fortunate enough to find someone taller than you, perhaps, but if you’re hoping for someone snarkier than you I can only think of two people who might suit. Unfortunately, you are related to both of them.”  
  
Jaime laughed, “Was that not snark just now, my lady?”  
  
“I suppose it was. I’m afraid I’ve fallen in with unsavory company and it has begun to rub off on me.”  
  
“Rub off on you, you say?” Jaime smirked.  
  
“And you’ll also have a difficult time finding someone whose mind is in the moat as often as yours is.”  
  
“Or I’ll find someone who is just better at hiding it,” he suggested, handing her the mug of tea.  
  
“Moon tea?” she asked, sitting up and taking it from him. He watched her as she quickly drank it and set the mug on the other side table.  
  
“I’m sorry the servants woke you up, Wench. I meant the bath to be a surprise.”  
  
“I woke up when you got out of bed. I had to use the privy pot anyway, while you were talking at the door. I’m looking forward to that bath, though.”  
  
She kissed him and got out of bed. He watched her walk to the alcove. She bent to run her fingers through the water and Jaime sighed inwardly. He might tease her about thinking about sex as often as he did, but it would be impossible for her to match him in that.  
  
Brienne stretched, head back and arms over her head, the line of her back a deep curve as she arched backwards. The position made her breasts rise and her hair stream down, swaying just above her ass. Jaime suppressed a groan and looked away for a moment. The gods had found her for him, and now they would torture him. Not that he was complaining.  
  
Brienne turned to grin at him. _Did she just stretch like that on purpose, knowing I was watching_? She stepped into the deep tub and lowered herself into the scented water with a drawn out sigh of pleasure. _She **is** teasing me, the Wench_. She lowered herself out of view and rose seconds later with her hair dripping. Jaime imagined the droplets of water that would adorn her skin like crystals, wanted to how her wet nipples tightened at the touch of air on them.  
  
“Are you going to join me?” she asked, “It would be more efficient, since we really need to wash and get going if we want to break our fast before you meet Viserion.”  
  
With a shrug, Jaime got off the bed and walked toward her. His cock was in the lead and no matter how he tried for a slow dignified walk to the alcove he felt ridiculous. The smug look on Brienne’s face wasn’t helping. Her laughter even less so.  
  
“My poor lion,” she said as he got in and lowered himself into the water, “We really do need to leave this room sometime today,” She smiled at him shyly, “I wish we could make love again right now, too.”  
  
“’Make love’?” Jaime asked.  
  
“Yes, apparently in some places they use the term in place of ‘fuck.’”  
  
“And where did you hear this, my lady?”  
  
“I read it in a book,” Brienne admitted, blushing.  
  
Jaime bit his lip and raised his eyebrows at her, “In a book? What kind of book were you reading, Bearenne? Does my lady have a taste for naughty literature?”  
  
“I…well, there was just the one book. I found it in my father’s library. Sometimes I would sneak in there and read it. It wasn’t very descriptive, mind you, but the pictures made it clear what ‘making love’ referred to.”  
  
“Naughty pictures, too? I want to see this book that sullied your innocence.”  
  
“You’ll be disappointed. I was. They left quite a lot to the imagination,” she rolled her eyes and Jaime laughed.  
  
“If you wish, then, I’ll make love to you when we get back here tonight. I’ll leave nothing to your imagination, I promise.”  
  
“Will you fuck me, as well?”  
  
“There’s a difference?”  
  
“There might be,” she suggested, reaching for the jar on the table and handing it to him. “Help me wash my hair?”  
  
***

After washing each other’s hair and just a little playful wrestling in the big tub after someone deliberately dropped the soap and needed to find it again, Jaime and Brienne got ready for the day ahead. They would be spending most of their time with Toby Mott and his family, and Jaime realized that between the Cersei trouble and their betrothal he never did get a chance to show Brienne his new sword.  
  
She was already out in the parlor waiting for him, taking the opportunity to begin a letter to her father. Jaime carried out the sword wrapped in its cloth. It had no scabbard since it would never be worn except when it was already secured to his stump and shoulder.  
  
“I’ve been meaning to show you since I came back from Mott’s,” Jaime said, setting it on the long, low table in front of the couch. Brienne came to watch as he unwrapped it. Her quick intake of breath showed that she immediately took in the beauty and importance of such a weapon.  
  
“Oh, Jaime! Have you tried this yet?” she picked it up reverently and held it by the cup that his stump would fit into, examining the straps and nodding as she figured out how it would fit on him. When she noticed the little dragon glass sword inlaid in the blade she exclaimed and traced its shape with her finger. Jaime stood grinning at her, pleased with her reaction.  
  
“I got to put it on up at Mott’s forge. It fairly sings when I swing it. It’s with good reason Mott charges more than anyone for his work; he is the best there is. He had the re-forging of Ice, you know.”  
  
Brienne’s hand came to rest on Oathkeeper’s hilt. Jaime knew the sword was her most treasured possession. The Valyrian steel weapon was the twin to Widow’s Wail, which now belonged to his son Tommen.   
  
“Will you fight right-handed again now?” She asked, turning the new sword to catch the light. “I can’t wait to see you use this.” She handed it back to Jaime to re-wrap.  
  
“I’ve asked Mott to make me a tourney sword in the same design, so that I might practice with it. I hoped we could spar today,” he said, watching as her eyes brightened at the prospect, “You’ll want to bring your sparring sword with you.”  
  
“Have you asked Tyrion whether the ban on you carrying weapons has been lifted yet?” she asked, settling her heavy blue cloak over her shoulders.  
  
“I plan to start carrying one again regardless. If someone objects they’re welcome to take it up with me. I wonder what they did with my sword after I was arrested?”  
  
“They brought it south with us. I made them give it to me after you were sentenced. It should be wrapped in our bedroll,” she said, walking back into the bed chamber with Jaime following.  
  
The bundle of possessions that they used daily in the north was in a corner of the room, tied securely with leather cord. It looked incongruous against the opulence of the room, the battered grays and browns of leather and fur making the colorful rug it rested on almost gaudy. Ironically, the scene depicted on the rug was of some long-forgotten battle. The bright summer hues of the landscape and the colorful house banners streaming into the wind over knights in plate armor bore little resemblance to what they had come to associate with the battles they were used to fighting. There was no blood, no snow, and no burning corpses.  
  
Brienne kneeled to untie the straps, cursing as she tried to loosen some of the knots.  
  
“This would be easier if you hadn’t chewed off my one decent fingernail,” she groused.  
  
Managing to get enough of one end untied to tug the furry bedroll out a bit, Brienne probed around inside until she felt the leather straps of Jaime’s sword belt. She slid it out and went to fasten it around his hips.  
  
Jaime was happy to let her do this. He’d learned to do such things for himself with only a little extra time and difficulty, but having Brienne put his sword belt on him had become something of a ritual over time. It was one of those things that allowed them to be close without having to admit that it meant anything. This was the first time she’d strapped his sword on for him since their last night fighting the Others.  
  
Brienne was standing quite close to him, buckling the straps, adjusting the position of the belt and sword. Jaime could smell her hair, feel her warmth. Her touch on his hips was deft, efficient. Yet there was no question, now that their feelings were out in the open, that this had always been something intimate, erotic even. How had they managed to deny what was between them for so long?  
  
Brienne stepped back and smiled at him, “It is good to see you armed again, my Lord. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.”  
  
“Me, too,” Jaime said, taking her hand to lead her out of their chambers. They drew a few amused glances in the corridors of the holdfast. Two tall warriors wearing their swords and holding hands was a bit unusual. Jaime felt good to be wearing a sword again. He hoped his left arm hadn’t lost too much strength during the weeks he hadn’t been able to practice.  
  
Outside the holdfast the snow was falling heavily again, but there was very little wind. Jaime guided Brienne quickly past the severed heads and down the serpentine stairs. They stopped by the armory to retrieve Brienne’s tourney sword, their sparring gambesons, shields, and helms before going to the dining hall.  
  
It was early enough that the morning meal was still being served. The tables in the hall were full of people eating eggs and boiled pork on thick trenchers of bread. The braziers were all lit to drive away the cold, and the dragon egg grill had what looked like small narrow fishes smoking on it. The great dragon skull, Rufus, hung in his place of honor, red candles in his eye sockets and mouth.  
  
Jaime looked around for an empty table, but seeing none they took one close to a brazier and near the kitchen as well. There were a couple of women chatting quietly at the end of the table, so they took the other. Rather than sitting side by side, he and Brienne sat opposite each other, but not before sharing a kiss.  
  
They had Jenna as their server again. The woman looked them over and smiled when she saw they were holding hands across the table.  
  
“Heard that song about you,” she said in greeting.  
  
“Which one?” Jaime asked, raising an eyebrow at Brienne.  
  
“Well, truth be told there was several folk in the kitchen anxious to sing me some of the better known songs about the pair of you. But the one I mean is ‘Brienne the Brave.’ It was lovely.”  
  
“Which others did they sing?” Jaime asked curiously. Brienne kicked him under the table, but he hardly felt it through his boots.  
  
“Now, is it chivalrous of you, Ser, to embarrass the lady? Can you not see how she blushes? They wasn't songs for the morning table, most of them,” Jenna said, looking sternly at Jaime. She wasn't that much older than him, but still seemed inclined to treat him like an errant child.  
  
“My apologies then, to you both,” he said, seeing Brienne trying not to laugh at the scolding he’d received.  
  
“Shall I bring you something to break your fast, then?” Jenna asked, “There’s also some little fishes cooking on the dragon egg. I’m told we’re supposed to call ‘em ‘Dragon Talons’ for the way they curl up when they cook, but mostly we just call ‘em pig slop, because that’s where most of them are headed after the first bite. Someone had the clever idea to soak them in brine overnight and now they smell like the bay when the tide’s out.”  
  
Brienne wrinkled her nose and shook her head.  
  
“I believe we’ll just have the eggs and pork, my lady, with some ale,” Jaime told her.  
  
“Good choice, Ser. I’ll have that out to you soon. Oh! Why, here’s your other young men, Lady Brienne!”  
  
Loras and Dwayne had come into the hall and were walking to their table. Jaime wasn't sure he wanted to see Ser Dryp just yet, but it seemed unavoidable.  
  
“Well met, Ser Loras, Ser Dwayne,” Jaime said, smiling up at them, “I hear the fish is very good today.”  
  
“Ah, that sounds delicious!” Dwayne said, seating himself next to Brienne. She opened her mouth to tell him about the fish, but then caught Jaime’s eye and decided to let him have his petty revenge.  
  
“We’ll have whatever else they’re having also,” Loras said, sitting down by Jaime. Jenna nodded, gave Jaime a speculative glance, shifted her eyes to the other two men and then gave him a knowing smile before going to fetch their order.  
  
“Lady Brienne, it is good to see you looking so well today,” Dwayne told her, “I don’t know about you, but I was barely able to leave my bed yesterday.”  
  
“Nor was I,” Brienne said blandly. Jaime quickly looked at her and caught the secret smile she gave him. He couldn’t help grinning at her.  
  
“I don’t think I've had that much rum in so short a time before,” Dwayne continued, seemingly oblivious to the hidden meaning of Brienne’s statement.  
  
Loras, however, was quick to pick up on the look Jaime and Brienne were exchanging.  
  
“You know, you really do look well rested today, my lady,” he said, “it must have been a _very_ satisfactory day in bed.”  
  
Jaime snorted with laughter, and Brienne blushed to the roots of her hair.  
  
“Were you well looked after in the _Maiden_ vault?” Loras asked, widening his eyes innocently. His emphasis on the word _maiden_ did not go unnoticed.  
  
“My brother Tyrion was kind enough to find us chambers in the Holdfast,” Jaime said, “The lady will no longer be residing in the Maidenvault.”  
  
“I see.” Loras said, smirking, “I take it the little misunderstanding between you two has been settled?”  
  
Dwayne looked uncomfortable, “Loras, we ought not pry. You can see that you’re embarrassing Brienne.”  
  
“It’s all right, Dwayne. Loras and Jaime are just having a jape at my expense,” Brienne said, “but I can assure you that all is well between me and Ser Jaime.”  
  
“We’re betrothed,” Jaime said with satisfaction, enjoying the startled look on Brienne’s face, “But don’t tell anyone yet.”  
  
“Especially not Cersei, I should imagine,” Loras said with a low whistle, “Well, I am very happy for you both. You are certain you’re not rushing into this? I mean, you’ve only been sharing a bed for _years_.”  
  
“Loras, is this really the time to tease them? I’m really happy everything has worked out so well,” Dwayne said, “Have you decided when to have the wedding? We’ll all be on the road north soon. I imagine you’ll want to have your ceremony in the Royal Sept before then.”  
  
Jaime was grateful that no one else was aware of why they didn’t want to marry in that particular sept. Brienne was looking at him, unsure what to tell the two knights about their plans.  
  
“We haven’t made plans yet,” he said, “we really don’t want to excite anyone’s interest in our wedding.”  
  
“Oh, a wedding!” Jenna said, arriving with their plates, “how perfectly lovely!”  
  
 _Fuck_. The four of them looked at each other in dismay.  
  
“Dear lady,” Loras said smoothly, “We are all very happy for Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, but you’ve stumbled upon a very great secret! It would be appreciated if you could keep it so until they’ve made their official announcement.”  
  
“Oh, to be sure, Ser. I am the very soul of discretion,” Jenna said seriously, setting a plate piled high with dragon talons between Loras and Dwayne. “Would you two like something to dip the Talons in? Perhaps some hot wild mustard or clotted mare’s milk?”  
  
“I hear they’re quite good dipped in aged egg custard,” Jaime said, nodding encouragingly.  
  
“Alas, Ser Jaime, we’re fresh out of egg custard in the kitchens,” Jenna said, affecting the proper tone of disappointment, “but there’s some thistle jam’s just been discovered in a cellar what’s been forgotten for years. I hear it might be a real rare treat once eaten by kings.”  
  
“These…talons…look like something we might eat on Lorath,” said Dwayne, “but there we eat them with just a sprinkling of salt. What do you think Loras, would you like to try something like we have in my homeland? I recall you saying you’d like to visit there someday.”  
  
Loras smiled at Dwayne, “Just some salt then,” he said to Jenna, “and perhaps a tiny bit of the thistle jam and some toasted bread? My friend here hasn’t had an opportunity to try many of the legendary foods of Westeros, what with winter’s deprivations and all.”  
  
“Right away, Ser,” Jenna said, her pretty dimples deepening with her smile, “I’ll bring it with your ale.”  
  
When she’d left Brienne looked at Jaime with concern. “Do you think she’ll tell anyone? I can deal with Cersei, but if the queen hears we’re to be married…”  
  
“What has the queen to do with it?” asked Dwayne as he speared a pale chunk of pork on his knife and regarded it suspiciously.  
  
“Tyrion thinks she might use it as leverage where the dragon training is concerned,” Brienne said.  
  
“Or worse, she might decide to plan our wedding.” Jaime added.  
  
Loras looked around the dining hall dramatically and then burst out laughing, “And how should you like a dragon-themed wedding, Lady Brienne? I imagine Daenerys could top even the splendor of this room if she had good reason.”  
  
Jaime and Brienne both groaned.  
  
Jenna came back with the mugs of ale, cubes of bread, a small dish with something green and gelatinous on it, and a tiny pot of coarse salt. Dwayne turned to help her with the mugs and she set the other items in the center of the table.  
  
“Enjoy!” She chirped and quickly left the table. Jaime could see her shoulders shaking with laughter as she walked away.  
  
Dwayne got a pinch of salt between his fingers and speared a talon. He examined it critically, looked doubtful, then sprinkled the salt over it and stuffed the fish in his mouth. Jaime and Brienne saw the tears spring to his eyes as he quickly chewed and swallowed, but Loras was concentrating on getting the thistle jam to adhere to the toasted bread.  
  
“Mmm, delicious!” Dwayne said enthusiastically when Loras looked up from his task.  
  
“Is it as good as the ones from Lorath?” he asked, trying to maneuver the jam and bread to his mouth without letting them part ways. He stopped suspiciously just before putting it in his mouth and sniffed. He shrugged and popped it into his mouth and chewed.  
  
“ _Fuck it all_!” he gasped, digging in his mouth with his fingers to clear the mucous like jam and chewed bread out.  
  
Jaime guffawed to see the elegant Loras Tyrell using table manners more suited a three year old peasant. Brienne looked away, wiping her eyes and trying to stem her laughter by biting her lips.  
  
Dwayne looked concerned. He shot a dirty look at Jaime and Brienne as Loras wiped his tongue with an unadorned cube of toast.  
  
“Gods, I don’t believe any king _ever_ ate that!” Loras stuck his tongue out and tried to speak, “Uz id ook ike aye ave pwickles in muh tung?”  
  
“No, no prickles that I can see,” Dwayne said, leaning forward to examine Loras’s green coated tongue, “I would imagine the salt and talons would draw them out if there were any stuck there.”  
  
Dwayne quickly speared a little fish, sprinkled salt on it and laid it on Loras’s tongue before he could close his mouth. Loras drew it in and chewed gratefully. As he chewed his face grew red, but it was Dwayne’s eyes that teared up.  
  
Loras spit the chewed fish in his hand and glared as Dwayne slapped the table and laughed uncontrollably. Loras looked around for a place to put the mess in his hand and noticed that Jaime and Brienne were avoiding his eyes by concentrating on their food. Suddenly Brienne hiccupped and clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide with consternation.  
  
Jaime chuckled; he knew this was what happened if Brienne held back her laughter for too long. _Very soon now_ –  
  
Brienne fell into a violent fit of hiccups mixed with laughter and had to lay her head on the table as she wheezed and shook. Dwayne reached over and rubbed her back.  
  
“Oh, poor Brienne! Look what you’ve done to her, Loras.” He said.  
  
“ _What I_..?” Loras said outraged.  
  
“I’m sure someone would comfort you, too, had you not a piece of chewed fish in your hand,” Dwayne said calmly.  
  
Jaime found his laughter somewhat tempered by seeing Dwayne’s big hand caressing Brienne’s back. He could think of no way to end the familiarity except to finish the meal and leave. They had been too occupied to eat after their single meal of the day before, and he knew they both were hungry. It would be unfair to drag Brienne away before she’d finished her eggs, at least.  
  
Loras apparently had seen enough of Dwayne’s care for Brienne as well. He dropped the contents of his hand onto Dwayne’s trencher.  
  
“There, you can have your fish back.” He said as Dwayne’s mouth dropped open at the muck in the middle of his eggs, “If that’s the style of food and hospitality on Lorath I believe I shall stick with pigs’ feet and Blackwater cod.”  
  
 _If Brienne’s right about these two, then they seem to be in the middle of a lover’s quarrel_ , thought Jaime, _but at least Dryp isn’t touching her anymore_.  
  
Brienne inhaled a huge breath, head still down on the table, and held it for a remarkably long time. In Jaime’s experience that never actually cured hiccups, but she always insisted on trying it anyway.  
  
“Better, my love?” he asked, when he became concerned that she might have passed out. Brienne lifted her head and regarded him with her remarkable blue eyes, still sparkling with mirth. She nodded and sat up, reaching for her ale. Just as it got to her lips – _hic_ – and she was laughing all over again.  
  
“Forgive my Lady,” he said to the other men, “It would appear that recent events have made her quite giddy.” Jaime reached for her hand and held it in his upturned palm, stroking it with his thumb, “Come, Sweetling, you must calm yourself or you’ll frighten the dragon later.”  
  
Dwayne pushed away his trencher. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaime was sure he saw Loras stick his tongue out at the big knight.  
  
"Dragon?” Loras asked, “You’re going to see the dragons today? Did you agree to train them, then?”  
  
“I’ve agreed to train one of them,” Brienne confirmed, “Viserion. Today I just want to take Jaime to the dragon pit to meet him.”  
  
Loras looked at Jaime, “How does that sit with you, Ser Jaime? A bit harder to rescue your lady from a dragon than a bear.”  
  
Jaime opened his mouth to answer, but Brienne cut in, “I shall not _need_ rescuing, Ser Loras. If all goes well, teaching that dragon to fight White Walkers and carry supplies may just help us to rescue other people.”  
  
“Us?” echoed Ser Loras.  
  
“Jaime will be helping me, or at least he’ll be _with_ me, while I try to train Viserion. Daenerys says the dragons aren’t particularly fond of men, but who couldn’t like Jaime?”  
  
Dwayne gave a little snort and all eyes turned to him. He blushed. “Sorry, I, uh, my ale went down the wrong way.”  
  
No one mentioned that he obviously hadn’t been drinking any ale right then.  
  
 _So Ser Dryp isn’t fond of me, either,_ Jaime thought, _I wonder why?_  
  
“Spoken like a girl in love,” Loras cut in, smiling at Brienne, “But I daresay your dragon won’t care how dashing and handsome Jaime is. What makes her Grace think the dragons dislike men?”  
  
“They dislike Jorah Mormont intensely,” Brienne said.  
  
“Everyone dislikes Jorah,” Loras said.  
  
“I bet even Jorah dislikes Jorah,” observed Dwayne, “seeing as he hates anyone that wants to see what’s going on under the Queen’s silk dresses.”  
  
Jaime and Brienne laughed.  
  
“How does that even make sense?” Loras asked.  
  
“ _They_ get it,” Dwayne pointed out, “maybe you should ask the ‘dashing and handsome’ Ser Jaime to explain it to you.”  
  
“Okay, leave me out of it,” Jaime said, truly perplexed by the exchange.  
  
“I think we should go. Are you finished with your food, Ser?” Brienne asked him.  
  
Jaime drained his ale and nodded to her. They made their goodbyes and hastily left the hall.  
  
“What in the seven hells was that all about?” Jaime asked her when they were back outside in the snow.  
  
“Jealousy, I should imagine,” Brienne said, “Dwayne is afraid that Loras fancies you, and Loras is trying to make Dwayne jealous by flirting with you so that he’ll do something about it.”  
  
“Do something? Like what? Surely he doesn’t mean to challenge me for Loras’s affections?”  
  
“No, Sweetling. At a guess I would say Dwayne is holding back on having a romance with Loras, and Loras is trying to goad him into declaring his feelings.”  
  
“How do you know all this?” Jaime asked, stopping in front of the stables.  
  
“It’s just obvious,” Brienne said, giving him a kiss and preceding him into the noise of the building.  
  
“So, they haven’t, uh, spent time with one another?”  
  
“I didn’t say that. Remember when Dwayne said he barely left his bed yesterday?”  
  
“I guess so,” Jaime said, though he hadn’t paid much attention. He grabbed Ser Fluffy Tail’s saddle from the rack and Brienne picked up Sean’s.  
  
“And I said I hadn’t either?” Brienne said, turning up the row of stalls their horses were in.  
  
“So?”  
  
“That was a convoluted form of girl talk. He never said _why_ he didn’t leave his bed,” Brienne grinned, “and neither did I.”  
  
“Now I _know_ you’re making all of this up,” Jaime said, setting Ser Fluffy’s saddle over the railing.  
  
“You’ll never know for sure, will you?” Brienne teased, “For you are such a man.” She set her saddle on the rail also and opened Sean’s stall.  
  
The horse was eager to see her and huffed his sweet-smelling breath into her hair before pushing forward to leave the stall. Brienne tied his halter to the hitching ring and began to saddle him and tie shield and armor on, while Jaime petted his nose and watched her curiously, still undecided about whether she was serious about Dryp and Loras. _Perhaps I’ll never know_ , he thought, _But I’m all right with that_.  
  
When Sean was ready, Jaime went to release his own mount, giving him some scratches behind the ears and a couple of hearty pats on the neck.  
  
“There now, Reggie. You’ll be near dragons today. You’ll be valorous and brave, and not let Sean show you up, eh?”  
  
“Oh please,” Brienne said, picking up Fluffy’s saddle and hoisting it over his back, “Your horse is such a dandy compared to Sean. Ser Fluffy will have nightmares for weeks.”  
  
“Night _mares_?” Jaime asked with a smile, “Ser Fluffy – er, Reggie, is a true knight and unafraid of anything. Sean is afraid of spiders.”  
  
“Ice Spiders,” said Brienne, tightening Fluffy’s cinch, “Not little innocent garden spiders like you are… _Ser_ Jaime.” She tied the bundle with Jaime's sparring gear onto Fluffy’s saddle and walked over to mount Sean.  
  
Jaime had the grace to know he’d lost this battle and got on his own horse. They rode out of the stables and the Red Keep, heading down Aegon’s Hill and into the snowy squalor of King’s Landing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the very long delay in getting this chapter written and posted. The next update will be quicker. I was actually trying my hand at writing a smutty little ebook and posting it on Amazon, etc., and it took up a lot of time. 
> 
> I honestly intended for them to make it to the dragon pit and Mott's forge in this chapter. It came down to either not posting an update for at least another day or posting this rather leisurely account of the newly betrothed pair. I hope you enjoyed the dining hall adventures, as writing them amused me greatly. 
> 
> As always, your comments are the egg custard to my dragon talons, the thistle jam to my toast, the ice spider to my horse - wait, all of those are bad things! Uh, your comments are nearly as good as you coming to my house and cleaning my cat boxes for me. Now that would really be something, wouldn't it? You'd like to make me that happy without getting your hands dirty, wouldn't you?
> 
> Thank you to all my readers! To my old and new reviewers, you hold a very special place in my heart. Please continue being the awesome people you are.


	27. Meeting Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime began to fear she would kiss the thing like she often did Sean. Brienne looked over at Jaime and smiled. It was going to take a lot to make her more cautious with these creatures, he could already tell.
> 
> “Just don’t kiss…” he started to say, but it was too late. She set her lips on the dragon’s nose and Jaime sighed dramatically.
> 
> “Jealous?” Brienne asked as she straightened. She put her arm through the bars to reach Viserion’s forehead and caress that, too.
> 
> “Don’t get used to it, Lizard Breath,” Jaime said to Viserion. Brienne laughed.
> 
> _In which Brienne introduces Jaime to the dragons._

**Jaime POV**

The path leading down Aegon’s Hill was obscured by the heavy snow, which continued to fall so thickly that soon it would cover their tracks, all trace of their passage erased. In the distance, King’s Landing looked like a tiny fairy city from a storybook, all snow covered roofs and windows warmly aglow with candles. From here one could believe there was no grime, no hunger, and no fear.

Jaime looked at Brienne riding at his side. He noticed that she had taken special care in dressing that morning, choosing a thick woolen tunic of a blue so dark it was nearly black, and a soot-grey jerkin that was cut in a more feminine style than her usual garb. He wondered if she’d commissioned them when she’d had her new sleep gowns made. Most of their clothes were well worn and frequently mended, many seeming to have as many scars as the two of them did. Brienne’s breeches were a familiar pair of close-fitted leather so scuffed and stitched that you could hardly tell what their original color had been. 

Brienne shifted her weight in the saddle with a grimace.  She made a little grunt of annoyance, so quiet that Jaime almost missed it.

“Is something amiss, Brienne?” he asked, urging Fluffy so close their knees were nearly brushing.

She turned to look at him, chagrinned that he’d heard her, “No, nothing is wrong,” she said, giving him a small smile.

“Are you nervous about me meeting the dragons?” Jaime asked.

“No. Are you nervous about it?” she said, shifting in her saddle again.

“Not really. Well, maybe a little,” Jaime allowed, “I really think you’ll like Mott and Moira.”

“I’m sure I will,” Brienne assured him.

“So, not shy about that? _Something_ is bothering you,” Jaime said.

“I’m _fine_ ,”

“Sweetling, you’re as jittery as a squire going into battle on a new horse.”

Brienne sighed again, “I am not.” She reached down and patted Sean’s neck with her gloved hand, “I just don’t want the horses to veer off the trail. I’m trying to watch for things they might blunder into.”

“They’d see anything before you would. Both of them are sure-footed and used to snow.” 

Sean chose that moment to stumble over an unseen stone and Brienne grimaced as she pushed herself back from the pommel, which she’d slid against. She turned her head to the side to examine a tree they were passing, and then looked quite absorbed with watching a distant hawk. 

Jaime watched her, perplexed. When she rose up a little in her stirrups to shift her seat again he finally realized what the trouble was. Riding a horse so soon after their first bedding was causing her discomfort. While always stoic about pain, Brienne was probably embarrassed as well. Jaime’s instinct was to comfort _and_ tease her, but he had the good sense to do neither. 

Instead, he remarked, “Do you realize this is the first time we’ve ridden out of the Red Keep together since we got here?” 

Brienne nodded, “The last time we rode through King’s Landing together was when we were coming from the north for your trial. Before that, it was when we came from Harrenhal.”

“Neither were very good homecomings,” Jaime noted. 

“No, it seems that coming back to King’s Landing and the Red Keep isn’t good for us,” Brienne said.

“Not entirely true,” Jaime said, “the first time, I sent you away and nearly lost you. This time I was smart enough to make sure you would always be mine.”

Brienne looked down and petted Sean’s mane, “I have been yours for a long time, Jaime,” she said softly. Her voice carried to him easily through the silence of the snow.

“I don’t know how I ever deserved you,” he said, just as quietly. 

“Nor do I,” Brienne smiled, “but I suppose I shall have to bear with you, well as I may.” 

Jaime chuckled, looking forward to introducing his betrothed to one of his oldest friends. Mott would have the sense to see what an extraordinary person she was. 

But just now, entering the city itself, he found he was not looking forward to meeting the dragons. Like Brienne, he’d grown up on tales of dragons and knights, and had always dreamed of having a place in their world. If not for the risk to her, he would have been excited. 

The sounds of the city were muffled as they rode close to the wall, and the smell seemed less pervasive than usual. The population of King’s Landing had swelled threefold as winter moved further south and people moved to the perceived safety of the walled city. Smallfolk thronged the streets even here on the outskirts. In the snow they looked like wraiths, taking no notice of the two riders passing by. 

As poor as the food in the Red Keep was, Jaime knew it was worse down here as supplies needed to be stretched to feed so many. Bowls of Brown, once only a staple of Flea Bottom, were common even in more well-off areas. A steady business in spices from the free cities had flourished as folk tried to enhance the flavor and color of the fare. 

Some even tried to make what they had more appetizing by coming up with new names for it: Saffron Stew, Pigeon Pride Pie, Blackwater Bounty, and more, all attempting to disguise what were essentially mushy grains with bits of organ meat, fish heads, and the slimy but plentiful bay eels, cooked until they were tender and indistinguishable from the oddments of root vegetables and rats that were also thrown in. 

Jaime hoped they’d never have to resort to eating rats on campaign in the north. It was a possibility when the troops finally depleted the remaining game in the woods. There'd often been discussion of eating their horses if it came to that, but he’d sooner eat tree bark than Fluffy or Sean. 

“We’re almost there,” Brienne said cheerfully as they passed Dragon’s Gate. 

“Lead on,” Jaime said. 

The horses sensed the dragons and pranced nervously, tossing their heads and rolling their eyes. Both mounts were battle seasoned, but Jaime and Brienne tried soothing them anyway, talking to them and patting their necks and withers reassuringly. 

Brienne halted in front of a newer building that had been added on to the dragon pits since Jaime had last been in this part of King’s Landing. He smelled the musky, reptilian scent of the dragons and the fetid, faecal smell of wet sheep. From somewhere in the small stable a horse, scenting Sean and Fluffy, nickered. 

A grinning Dothraki warrior strode out of the low building toward them. 

“Ashefa, well met!” Brienne greeted him as she and Jaime dismounted. She turned to Jaime, “Ashefa was with us when we saw the dragons a couple of days ago. Ashefa, this is Ser Jaime. I’ve brought him to meet the dragons.” 

The Dothraki took the reins of both horses, “Dragons fed,” he told Brienne, “Three sheep for Drogon, two for Rhaegal, two for Viserion. Dragons full, they sleep.” 

“Thank you, Ashefa,” she said, “We’ll go see them now.”

The Dothraki nodded and led their horses into the stable.

At the door of the house they wiped their boots on a thrice-folded tapestry in front of the door. Jaime thought he might have seen a ballroom scene from Joffrey’s reign under the scrapings, but it was difficult to tell. 

The opulence of the front room was a surprise. The large hearth and rich furnishings would have suited any noble’s manor, though this house was on a much smaller scale. A semi-open kitchen and a hallway leading to several closed doors. Jaime wondered if the bed chambers were as well appointed as the front room seemed to be. 

Brienne led him to the big, reinforced door at the back of the house and they walked through it together. The first thing Jaime noticed about the large run in front of the cages was the metal panels placed at regular intervals along the perimeter of the dragon enclosures. They looked like war shields, the kind you might use to protect you from arrows and boiling oil – or flame. Next he noticed the blood, some fresh and some rust-colored and dry, on the ground and the bars of the cages. 

“Sheep’s blood,” Brienne explained, “And these shields are to get behind if you hear them making a rasping sound. I haven’t heard it yet myself, but the Queen says it’s the sound of their flame sacs igniting.”

“Charming,” Jaime muttered, looking for the dragons.

“I’ve heard they get calmer after a meal, so perhaps they’re having a bit of a dragon nap,” Brienne suggested, walking up to the cage on the far right. She stepped up to the wide-set bars and peered in. Jaime was right behind her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “See there,” she said, pointing to a shimmer of opalescence at the far corner of the cage, “Viserion is asleep with his wing over his eyes.”

“But where are the oth –“

A screech rent the air to their left and Jaime pulled Brienne back behind one of the shields so roughly that their legs tangled and they nearly fell. Jaime’s sword was out and leveled over his head for an overhand strike in an instant.

“That’s Rhaegal,” Brienne said, peering out, “I think he’s just curious about us.”

“Wondering how we’d taste, no doubt,” Jaime said drily, sheathing his sword. The big green dragon was watching them, rubbing his head on the bars of his cage, his scales making an almost musical sound as they slid across the metal. 

Rhaegal’s greeting had also woken up Viserion, who raised his wing off his head and sniffed the air. Brienne stepped out from behind the shield and Jaime had to resist the urge to make her stand behind him. 

Rhaegal continued to make a show of rubbing up against his cage, looking surprisingly like a cat trying to lure someone in to pet him. He was much taller than them, but he kept his head lowered to their level. Jaime saw him blink, his third eyelid sliding quickly over the bronze colored eyes. 

Jaime wondered where Drogon was. There were areas within the furthest enclosure that might have hidden the big black dragon. Jaime steeled himself for another sudden screech should he decide to make his presence known. Viserion got to his feet, looking surprisingly awkward in the process. In flight he would be magnificent, but here on the ground he seemed to be at a disadvantage. 

Stretching his golden wings, Viserion flapped them a couple of times as though to shake out the wrinkles. Brienne was biting her lip, clearly waiting to see if the dragon was going to come to her. 

Rhaegal stopped rubbing and impatiently shoved his snout through the bars as far as he could. 

“This is the wilder one?” Jaime asked, finding he wanted to reach out and touch it. He kept his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword, determined to show no friendliness to the creature. 

“So it’s said,” Brienne told him, glancing at the dragon. “He sure looks like he wants someone to give him attention, though.”

Viserion made it to Brienne and immediately put his nose through the bars. She set her hand on his snout and rubbed the ridge of scales over his nostrils.

“How’s my good dragon? Huh? How’s that Viserion today? Did you have some nice fat sheep to eat?” she cooed.

Jaime began to fear she would kiss the thing like she often did Sean. She looked over at Jaime and smiled. It was going to take a lot to make her more cautious with these creatures, he could already tell.

“ _Just don’t kiss_ …” he started to say, but it was too late. Brienne set her lips on the dragon’s nose and Jaime sighed dramatically. 

“Jealous?” Brienne asked as she straightened. She put her arm through the bars to reach Viserion’s forehead and caress that, too. 

“Don’t get used to it, Lizard Breath,” Jaime said to Viserion. Brienne laughed.

“I think Rhaegal would like you to pet him,” she suggested, “see the way he’s looking at you?”

Rhaegal had been attentively watching Jaime the entire time. _Probably waiting for his chance to bite me_ , Jaime thought. The dragon looked a little too clever for his taste. 

“I thought they didn’t like men,” Jaime said.

Maybe they don’t, but there are no men like you,” Brienne said, smirking.

“Only me,” Jaime finished, smiling back. He’d said that once, long ago, and Brienne had never stopped teasing him about it. She said it showed what an arrogant ass he’d been.

Brienne stepped over to Rhaegal and held out her hand for him to sniff. He drew his snout back into his enclosure and raised his head, looking down his nose at them. Viserion knocked his head against the bars, his small horns clanging as he tried to recapture her attention. 

“I think your dragon is jealous,” Jaime said, “I mean, I think _that_ dragon is jealous.”

“You needn’t remind me it’s not mine,” Brienne said, annoyed. Whether at Jaime’s reminder or the way Rhaegal had rejected her offer of friendship, Jaime couldn’t be sure.

Both of them were looking at the green dragon when Drogon ambled up to the bars of his cage, yawning so widely they could see his sharp teeth and smell his breath.

“Gods, what a stink!” Jaime said, “I don’t suppose we could teach them to eat mint leaves?”

“I imagine the next time he makes flame it will burn away the sheep’s blood and tufts of wet wool that causes the odor,” Brienne said.

“Something to look forward to.” 

Brienne turned back to Viserion, who promptly pushed his nose between the bars. Jaime saw that Rhaegal put his snout back through as well. He cautiously stretched his arm out toward the dragon, hoping Brienne was too engaged with Viserion to notice. Rhaegal sniffed at Jaime’s hand curiously and then nudged it. Jaime cautiously placed it on the dragon and felt the warm scales under his fingers. He’d expected them to be cold, like plate armor. Intrigued, he brushed his fingertips along the ridge of the dragon’s snout. A noise came abruptly from its throat. Startled, Jaime hastily drew his hand back. He looked at Brienne in alarm, only to see she was struggling not to laugh at him. 

“He’s _durring_ , Jaime. Nothing to worry about. Except that you might start _liking_ him, that is.”

“He’s probably just trying to make me incautious so he can get under my guard another time,” Jaime said, stepping back and crossing his arms. He and Rhaegal stared at each other for a moment, and then the big beast banged his head on the bars just as Viserion had done. Jaime laughed when the dragon again presented his face for petting.

“I don’t trust you,” he said, putting his hand through the bars to stroke Rhaegal’s forehead, “so don’t get used to this.” The dragon immediately durred again and closed its eyes.

Jaime glanced over at Drogon, who was watching a bird soaring high overhead, black against the clouds.  

“I wonder how long it’s been since they’ve flown?” Brienne said, “I bet they’re terribly bored, being grounded in here.”

“I suppose so. I’m sure they’d be happier flying around and terrorizing the folk of King’s Landing.”

“Maybe I’ll get a chance to take Viserion up soon, let him stretch his wings,” Brienne said hopefully, ignoring his comment. 

Jaime felt a shiver down his back. Having her at risk working with a dragon on the ground troubled him enough, but up in the air, with no control… if only he could find some way to convince her to refuse to do this. But she’d already given her word. He knew from long experience that her stubborn honor was nearly intractable. All he could do was try to protect her. 

“We should get to Mott’s,” he said, stepping back from the green.

“We should,” Brienne agreed, giving Viserion a last rub with her knuckles, “Do you hear him durring? He’s not nearly as loud as yours.” 

“ _Not_ mine.” Jaime said, but leaned forward, “Yes, I hear it. _Not_ cute. Not a bit.”

Brienne smiled knowingly. Tommen got his soft side for animals from someone, and it certainly wasn't Cersei. 

“Let’s go take a look at the house. I think we’ll be spending a lot of time there,” she said, and walked back to the door, turning to look back at the dragons just once. Drogon had wandered off, still watching the sky, but the other two stayed to watch them go. Jaime refused to believe that a dragon could look disappointed.

Inside the house, candles had been lit, and a small oil lantern was waiting upon a sideboard. The great hearth was laid for a fire, but unlit. 

Brienne took Jaime’s hand, leading him into the wing of the house with a half dozen closed doors. 

Jaime tugged her back to him, wrapping his right arm around her waist to hold her against his chest, “Tell me you won’t take stupid risks, Brienne.” 

“Jaime, you know I won’t…” 

“ _Promise_ me,” he said fiercely, “Don’t let your bravery make you underestimate these creatures. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.” 

Before she could reply, his lips pressed hard against hers. He took her lower lip between his teeth, possessive and demanding. 

He let go, whispering against her mouth, “ _Promise_.” 

“I promise,” she breathed. 

They stood, no space between them, and the look in her eyes roused him. The soft blue of them was almost eclipsed by pupils so dilated they seemed fathomless; a darkness he would willingly drown in. Her breath was shallow and quick, skin flushed. The roughness of his kiss had reddened her lips and he yearned to repeat it. He’d only meant to secure her promise to be careful, but the yielding sweetness of her response was intoxicating. 

“Gods be good, woman, we’re never going to make it to Mott’s with you looking like this.” 

“Like what?” Brienne said, blinking as though she’d just woken up, her long, pale lashes sweeping her cheeks as she tried to focus her eyes on Jaime. 

Jaime leaned in to kiss her shoulder before resting his forehead against it. 

“You’ve no idea the power you have over me, Wench. How just the look in your eyes, nay, how everything about you, makes me want you.”

“Surely not everything,” Brienne said, self-deprecating, affecting a small laugh as she stiffened in his arms. 

He could feel her pulling away, even though she didn’t move. 

“You don’t have to believe me, Brienne. I’ve a lifetime to prove it to you, but I hope it won’t take that long for you to accept it,” Jaime said, raising his head to meet her eyes. 

Brienne took a deep breath, a shy smile lighting her eyes, “Perhaps another time you can show me, _prove_ to me, what you mean. But just now I'd like to see what secrets this house is hiding behind these doors. ” 

Like a couple of kids exploring, they opened the door to the first room and looked inside. It was a deep, narrow pantry. The glow of the small oil lamp Brienne held up revealed shelves laden with grains, dried meat and fruit, preserved vegetables and eggs; pickled, boiled, and, hopefully, fresh. A large slab of aging beef hung on a hook, ready for shaving or carving. There were no pigs’ feet to be found, and only one large jar of pale chunks of meat in oil labeled “Cod.” An entire cask of wine took up a corner of the room, and Jaime was able to decipher the script marking it out as being from one of the better-known vineyards in Dorne. 

“We may never leave,” Jaime announced.

“I can’t imagine the other rooms could be as appealing as this,” Brienne said, “I think I could live happily in here with just a pillow, a blanket, and a knife.”

“ _And me,_ ” Jaime reminded her.

“I _might_ share, if you made it worth my while.”

“Then we’d better explore the other rooms, that I may find the means to do so,” Jaime said, walking ahead of her to open the next door. It was a privy closet.

“It is large and well-appointed, at least,” Brienne noted, “but unless you are becoming more flexible in your old age I doubt you’ll be proving of use to me in here.”

“Ah, but there you’re mistaken. Someone has had the foresight to put in a shelf with some books upon it. I could drag an extra chair in here and read to you when you were obliged to bide here for a while. If you wished.”

“Ugh, I would not wish.” Brienne said, wrinkling her nose at him.

“Just remember that I offered.”

“I can very well read to myself, especially in the privy closet. Now, if you wanted to read to me in bed, _that_ I would not turn down.”

“Only if you will read to me as well,” Jaime smiled, “perhaps we could find a book similar to the one in your father’s library.”

Brienne laughed lightly, not opposed to the idea. Jaime found that the image of them reading to each other pleased him very well, though he hoped she would do the lion’s share of it. Her voice was rich and pleasant to listen to, and he did not read with the ease of his brother Tyrion. 

A supply room similar to the pantry was behind the next door. Linens, pots, a pile of kindling, candles and cleaning buckets filled the shelves. Unbidden, the image of Hemikh and Helyn came to Jaime and he shuddered slightly.

“Cold?” Brienne asked.

“Ah, I wish. I was picturing Hemikh and Helyn in the supply closet of the Maidenvault.”

“You never actually saw what happened in there, did you?”

“Well, no. Thank the gods.”

“If you didn’t see, then what picture was in your mind?”

“Picture? Er, there was no picture.”

“No picture,” Brienne said skeptically.

“None. My mind was as vacant as a snowy beach.” 

“That, I can believe. But you’re imagining it now, aren’t you? Trying _not_ to think of it is making you think of it even more.” 

“Stop, Brienne,” Jaime warned her, closing the door to the small room.

“Not until you tell me.”

“Only if you tell me what image came to your mind when I mentioned it,” Jaime challenged, turning to grin at her.

Brienne smiled and leaned in close to his ear, “I saw…”

Jaime waited as she paused what seemed a long while, her warm breath a pleasant tickle on his neck.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” Brienne finally said, giving his earlobe a quick kiss before walking away from him.

“Wench. I’d tell you what I assumed they were doing, but you’d only regret it. Some things cannot be unseen.”

Brienne reached for the handle of the next door and opened it. She ducked inside, laughing. Jaime looked into the large room, which was dominated by a bed that was raised so high off the ground it came with a matching two tiered step in front of it. Brienne was already sitting on the edge, her feet swinging a few inches from the floor.

Jaime stopped at the threshold and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. He said nothing, waiting until Brienne relented and made some remark. 

She was still laughing when she finally said, “So? Are you going to tell me?” 

Jaime’s smile broadened. He walked toward the bed and halted in front of Brienne. The height of the mattress meant they were face to face, though Brienne was seated. Jaime nudged her thighs apart and stepped between them, resting his hand and stump on her hips. Brienne wrapped her arms loosely around his waist. 

“Do you remember what happened last time you asked to hear about what Hemikh did?” He asked, his eyes bright with amusement.

“I… _oh_!” Brienne said, remembering their first night in the Maidenvault and how he’d turned her request to demonstrate Hemikh’s hip thrust at Helyn into something far more interesting. And intimate.

“Regrettably, we don’t have time for a reenactment of that night,” Jaime said, “But since you wanted to know: I only pictured the two of them doing it in the Dothraki Horse-position. Now that _that_ image is stuck in my head, I’d be pleased to banish it by doing something completely different with you. When we have _time_.” 

“Oh,” Brienne said, “Yes, I agree. Completely.” She moved toward him until her bottom was at the edge of the mattress. Sliding her hands down to his ass, she pulled him tight against her, wrapping her long legs around him, “Because we really do need to be getting on our way to Mott’s.” 

Jaime’s breath caught at her boldness. When did she figure out how to tease him so? Then he recalled all the times she’d wriggled against him in their bedroll over the years in seeming innocence, and laughed.

“What’s funny?” Brienne asked, a little taken aback.

“Nothing, Wench. I’m just enjoying figuring out so many unexpected things about you.”

“Like what?”

“Ah, that would be giving away the game, wouldn’t it?” Jaime said, “But maybe you should tell me what you pictured the Dothraki and his unlikely partner doing. Just to help me banish thoughts of what I'd like to do with you on this bed. Otherwise, we’ll never get to the forge before dark.”

“All right,” she said agreeably, “I just had a sudden image of Helyn on her knees…”

“You pictured the same thing I did, then.”

“No, it wasn't the Dothraki Horse pose. She was on her knees, on the floor, _facing_ him.”

Jaime wasn't able suppress a frustrated groan. The vision that immediately took root in his head didn’t involve the other couple in any way.

“I know I’ll be sorry I asked, but how do you even know…about that?

“Gods be good, Jaime, I haven’t been living on an isolated island somewhere. Not for a long while, anyway. Do you think when I see a whore kneeling in front of a man in camp that I believe she’s just keeping his cock from freezing in the cold?”

“Well, I hadn’t really thought…”

“I believe the term I’ve heard bandied about is ‘cock _sucker_ ,’ not ‘cockwarmer’, though generally it’s men calling other men that in anger. Still, I assume there’s some connection.”

Jaime didn’t answer. He backed away from her, remarking blandly, “This is a nice room, don’t you think? I’m surprised there’s no dragon motif, considering Daenerys had this house built.” 

Brienne had a satisfied smirk on her face, bu answered him amiably enough,“These are dragons, see?”She ran her hand over the silk blanket she was sitting on, “this pattern is all interlinked dragons. It’s also on the draperies against the far wall there.” 

Jaime walked over and examined the drapery fabric until his body had calmed some. He pushed one panel aside and looked out the thick panes of the window, which overlooked a large, dry yard that was covered by the old dome. 

“Brienne, did you know there’s a place out here you could use for training Viserion?”

“No, the queen never mentioned one.” She went to stand next to him and saw a space that could accommodate half a dozen dragons with wings spread. There were huge stone pillars anchored into the ground with heavy iron chains attached. “I bet they used this arena to train dragons before the Pit was burned during the Dance of Dragons.”

“They’ve only rebuilt some of the dome and enclosures; maybe there are more useful artifacts to be found,” Jaime said, “We can have Lavakhat and Hemikh look through old cages and rubble for anything useful.” 

“That should keep them out of trouble until I figure out what I’ll need them for besides flinging parts of sheep as dragon rewards.” 

Jaime laughed, imaging Viserion sitting up and begging. 

“Are we done in this room, my lady? We should finish looking around.” 

“We’re done for now, Ser Jaime,” Brienne said, giving him a cheeky smile, “there are at least three more rooms to explore.”

“Do you think you can behave yourself in the next one?”

“Me? All I did was sit on the bed. I’ve never seen such a tall bed. What function could it serve?”

Several thoughts and images passed through Jaime’s mind rather quickly, each of them featuring Brienne and the bed and not one of them involving sleep. Brienne was looking at him, and he realized she was expecting an answer to her question.

“I’ve no idea, Sweetling. I’m sure there must be some purpose we can’t possibly imagine.”

Brienne gave him a knowing look and they both left the room smiling.

The next room was also a bed chamber, unremarkable in any way except for the clashing purple and red velvet that Dany sometimes favored 

“It looks like a brothel,” Jaime remarked.

“Seen that many, have you?” Brienne asked.

“Hauled Tyrion out of that many.”

The final room appeared to be servant’s quarters, comfortable but plain. Jaime supposed they could have Agnes move in there to look after their needs, but the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea of having the house all to themselves. 

With that thought happily settled in his mind, they retrieved their horses and set out for the other side of the city and the Street of Steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to [SandwichesYumYum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SandwichesYumYum/pseuds/SandwichesYumYum/works), who gives me invaluable laughs and feedback on this fic. She knows all the secrets and holds the key to all biscuits. Also, her ongoing fic [ The Gentlest Schism](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1186263/chapters/2420278) is a huge favorite of mine.
> 
> Kudos also to my mother, who reads and makes suggestions and puts up with my showing her endless tumblr posts about Game of Thrones, Brienne and Jaime, and the actors who play them when she comes over to visit me. I bet she thought I'd be over the fangirling phase decades ago. 
> 
> I know many of you were hoping for the scene at Mott's forge, but I figured you'd rather have a new chapter now with an update following soon with an entire chapter devoted to Dinner with the Motts. I don't plan out my chapters in advance (yet), so sometimes the amount of things I want to cover gets unwieldy.
> 
> Please, please, take the time to comment, even if all you can manage is a few words telling me that you read and enjoyed my story and hate it when I take so long to update. 
> 
> Also, on a purely ZOMG are we all on the same page with this: NCW in sweatpants is about the hottest thing ever. Do they have sweatpants in Westeros? If not, they should. New Season of Game of Thrones about two weeks away - so excited! 
> 
> My tumblr url is [nurdles](http://nurdles.tumblr.com/). I mostly stick with Game of Thrones, Firefly, cats, and complaining about awful upcoming movies starring NCW (Other Woman, anyone?).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	28. Visiting the Mott's part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the open grill of his sparring helm, Brienne could see the fierce joy that lit his face. She felt a familiar flutter in her chest, recalling how that look always made her heart race with yearning for a man she thought she could never have.  
> “Come dance with me, Sweetling,” Jaime said with a seductive smile that made her blush.
> 
>  
> 
> _Brienne and Jaime at Tobho Mott's forge, part 1. 4,200 words, Brienne POV_

      The Street of Steel was loud with hammers ringing on anvils, the hiss of hot metal meeting cold water, and men shouting to be heard over it all. The heat of a dozen forges turned snow to slush, cascading droplets freezing and forging icicle swords from every eave. Soot clung, grimy and black against pristine new snow. Over it all hung the bloody tang of molten iron and steel, redolent of war.

      Brienne had never seen an entire street devoted to the craft of blacksmithing. There was more than one blacksmith back on Tarth, but their forges were leagues away from each another and folk shopped at whichever was closest. Here, one could choose from different styles and quality, or get basic work done in one of the shops at the bottom end of the street.

      She and Jaime were headed to the top of the street, where Toby Mott’s armory took up as much space as any other three shops on the street. They found a narrow path that had recently been hacked into the ice and their horses went nose to tail up the hill.

      While she’d never met the man, Brienne was familiar with his work. Her own armor, what was left of the original pieces anyway, was crafted in Mott’s forge. It had been a gift from Jaime, and except for Oathkeeper, was her most treasured possession. 

      Jaime had asked her if she was nervous about meeting Mott and his wife. The man was one of his oldest friends, and Brienne trusted Jaime’s judgment of people. She was more apprehensive of meeting Mott’s wife, Moira. Aside from the reaction most women had to her appearance and the life she led, engaging in small talk with them was difficult. She knew little of their interests and they even less of hers. She’d always dreaded women with babies, who tended to look at her like a duck who didn’t know how to swim, finding her lack of a husband and child even more curious than her swordplay. 

      As they rode into the large yard around Mott’s forge and home, the sounds of children shrieking in play and dogs barking carried over the whoosh of the bellows an apprentice was working to stoke the fire.  

      Wood smoke drifted on the light wind, reminding Brienne of the fires they huddled around on campaign. The flames had offered little relief from the biting cold, but she found herself smiling at the memory of her and Jaime keeping each other warm beneath their cloaks, laughing, talking, sometimes half-dozing in exhaustion.

      A thickly muscled man with a red beard and thinning apricot-colored hair looked up from examining a dented paldron when he heard the clatter of their horses’ hooves on the swept gravel path to his forge. From his broad smile at their appearance, Brienne guessed this must be Tobho Mott. He was a little younger than she had expected, somewhere between her father’s age and Jaime’s. 

      They halted their horses and dismounted at the same time. Mott smiled even wider, noticing how they moved almost in unison. 

      “Toby!” Mott roared, startling Brienne. 

      A red-haired boy of about eight came running from the stables, a large brindled dog at his heels. He stopped in front of his father, breathless and grinning. The dog went into the forge and lay down out of the snow, watching them.

      “See that Ser Jaime’s and Lady Brienne’s horses are rubbed down and fed. Bring back the sparring gear from their saddles and leave it just inside the shop. No messing about, now, got it?”

      The boy nodded, his eyes never seeming to leave Brienne. His father gave his shoulder a little nudge and the boy gave them a gap-toothed smile, reaching out to relieve them of their horses’ reins, “Will you fight later, Sers?” he asked excitedly.

      For a second, Brienne thought he’d mistaken her for a man, but then remembered that with her hair long and the well-fitted tunic he likely had formed a different misconception, “I am not a knight, lad,” she said kindly, “but Ser Jaime and I are hoping to spar later. You may watch if your father permits it.”

      “He will!” Toby assured her, “he’s been telling us all tales. We even had a bard here the other day and he played us your song.”

      Before they could ask _which_ song, Mott jerked his head toward the stables and the boy turned and led the horses away, followed by the dog.

      Mott stepped forward and enfolded Brienne in his muscular arms, his head barely clearing her shoulder. He stepped back, gave her an interested look, and then hugged Jaime as well.

      “So, this is your warrior woman,” he said, his arm still draped over Jaime’s shoulders.

      Jaime’s answering smile was so genuine and happy that Brienne felt her nervousness slip away. Whatever anyone else might think of her, Jaime loved her. 

      “Aye, this is my ‘Warrior Woman,’” he confirmed, “Brienne of Tarth, meet Tobho Mott, the finest armorer in Westeros.” His teasing tone put them further at ease. Jaime always seemed to know how to bring people together. 

      “Lord Mott,” Brienne said, inclining her head.

      “Toby. My friends call me Toby. I must say, ‘Brienne the Brave,’ I am glad to meet you at last.”

      Brienne raised an eyebrow at Jaime, “At last?”

      “Aye, lass,” Mott said, “I first learned of you when Jaime sent me instructions and measurements for your armor. When he came himself to look it over I expected him to bring you along.”

      “Oh,” Brienne thought back to the day Jaime had presented her with gifts and a quest, “I imagine he wanted it to be a surprise.”

      “Did the blue hold in the metal? We’d never made that color before. You know we’re the only armory that doesn’t just paint the color on.”

      “So I hear,” Brienne assured him, “the pieces of the original suit that remain are still dark blue, even though they are quite battered.”

      “That ‘remain’?” Mott asked.

      “The Lady has not cared for her armor quite as well as she has her sword,” Jaime said teasingly, “she lost a vambrace near Saltpans. And _both_ greaves at the Eerie, which is quite a story! The plated skirt looks like a particolored quilt now.” 

      “And your armor looks any better?” Brienne scoffed, “What remains of Jaime’s armor looks like a drunk with a broken hammer and an abundance of leather cord had his way with it.”

      “She’s not making a jape, Mott; that’s exactly how I patch it when I need to, with rum and cord. And three hands, since the lady always insists on helping.”

      Mott was watching their interplay with interest. Brienne abruptly realized that she and Jaime had stopped talking and were just looking at each other fondly. The moment was brief, but she blushed anyway. 

      “I have some spare pieces of armor about,” Toby offered, “bring what you have by and I’ll see what I can patch up before you go north.

      “Thank you,” Jaime and Brienne said together, and then laughed at Mott’s smirk.

      “I’ve heard from some Dothraki friends that you have an amazing wall of daggers,” Brienne said, “I’d love to see them.”

      “Come, I’ll show you,” Mott said, and led them into the forge. 

      His apprentice, a skinny young man whose only muscles seemed to reside in his bulky forearms, began to hammer on a chunk of iron near the back of the building. 

      Mott stopped at a wall covered floor to ceiling with mounted daggers, their bare blades gleaming orange and silver from the fire. Taking one down, Mott handed it hilt-first to Brienne, who took it reverently and held it up to examine it.

      “Is this Braavosi steel?’ She asked, running a finger along the flat of the blade, feeling the lightly grooved pattern in the metal.

      “The lady knows her weapons,” Mott said approvingly to Jaime, “I learned…” he raised his voice as the apprentice began to hammer more passionately behind them, “From some of the finest smiths in Qohor…they _WORK_ …” he was beginning to shout as the sound of the hammering reverberated around them, “WITH FINE SILVER FROM LORATH… _by the gods_ , Ranyld!” he turned to glare at his apprentice, “How about you go get Moira to give you something to eat and then take the rest of the day off?”

      Ranyld stopped hammering, ran his sooty hands through blond hair already streaked with greasy ash, and nodded dully at Mott. He trudged by, stopping only to hang his leather apron by the door.

      “Wife’s nephew,” Mott said, “Not the sharpest awl in the drawer. Now, what was I saying?

      “Silver, from Lorath,” Brienne prompted him, and he continued telling her about the dagger’s forging. The two of them happily chatted about different daggers on the wall for quite a while. Jaime looked bored and began poking around in the corners of the forge, examining tools, opening drawers, and, occasionally, dropping things.

      “You’ve known him a long time; has he always been this subtle?” Brienne asked Mott after one especially loud clang when Jaime knocked over a small bucket of scrap iron. Jaime set the bucket upright, and then looked in consternation at the pile of metal he’d spilled. It would take forever to pick them up one handed. 

      “Not to worry, lad, I’ll have my Ranyld sweep them up later. Jaime’s just impatient to see if I’ve finished his orders. I’ve been enjoying talking with your lady, Ser, she knows her weapons, she does. I’ll be a proud father if my little girl Merrie takes such an interest in good steel.”

      “She does know her way around weaponry, I’ll grant you,” Jaime said, joining them at the wall of daggers, “the lady nearly bested me the first time we fought.”

      “Nearly? I hear she practically drowned you after defeating you in battle.”

      “That song is becoming too well known,” Jaime complained, “though it’s true, my Brienne had murder in her eyes that day, and was frustrated by her vow not to kill me.”

      “The vow was to keep you safe,” Brienne reminded him, “a task I failed miserably at.”

      Jaime tilted his head at her, considering, “She gave me reason to live, Toby. That was the more difficult task, in the end.”

      “Aye, to live and fight a bear for her. I know that’s true, you told me yourself when you came for her armor.”

      “You’ve got the story wrong, Toby. I didn’t fight the bear, if you remember. I just used my dubious influence to have others take it down. If Brienne had been given a proper sword she’d have slain the bear herself.”

      “My boys have talked of little else but ‘Brienne the Brave’ since hearing the song. I’m afraid they’re going to insist on hearing all the details, especially about the bear and you getting your hand chopped off. Maybe you could dress it up a little for them.”

      Jaime and Brienne exchanged a look, _if ever there was a tale that needed no embellishing_ …

      “How about we just tell them the bear bit my hand off and Brienne pulled me to safety. It might save time,” Jaime said wryly.

      “Well, I guess it’ll stop ‘em asking for toy arakhs and wooden bears to reenact the whole thing with,” Toby said dubiously, “I’ll just go get the things I’ve been working on for you, Jaime. I’m sure you’re anxious to see them.”

      Jaime nodded, and the armorer left them.

      Stepping forward quickly, Jaime pulled Brienne into a brief kiss, “How do you like Toby?” he asked.

      “Very well,” Brienne said.

      “I knew you would. Wait until you see what he’s been making for me.”

      Mott returned with his arms full of weaponry and a cloth-wrapped bundle balanced on top.

      “Lady Brienne, if you would just take that wee package on top and set it aside for me,” Mott said. 

      Brienne did as he asked and then helped to lay the other items out on a work table. She recognized that the blunted short sword was a near duplicate of the one Jaime had shown her that morning. If lacked the refinement and dragon glass of the other, but it would be perfect for practicing. 

      One of the other items was a morning star with the same sort of stump cup and straps as the sword. Its long spikes bristled out, some of them serrated or corkscrewed to do maximum damage when ripping through an opponent’s flesh. 

      The third item, to Brienne’s surprise, looked like a Dothraki arakh. 

      “Jaime, you really mean to wear something like the weapon that severed your hand _in place of the hand itself_?” she asked, picking up the curved blade by the rounded base, careful not to touch the razor sharp inner curve. 

      Jaime shrugged, “I thought it might come in _handy_ ,” he said.

      Brienne groaned and set it distastefully back on the table. She reached for the package wrapped in blue cloth. Before she could pick it up, Toby grabbed it and held it against his chest.

      “Sorry, m’lady, this one is…it’s not…” he looked to Jaime for help.

      “Later, Brienne,” Jaime said, looking very pleased with himself.

      “Did you have something made for me?” Brienne was torn between insisting she needed nothing and telling him _give it to me this instant_.

      “Toby, put that somewhere for now, if you will. I’d like to try out my new sparring sword. It’s been far too long since the lady and I took the field together,” Jaime said, picking up it up and raising his eyebrows at Brienne. 

      They found their belongings just inside the shop entrance. Toby’s son was sitting next to the pile, his arm draped over his dog’s broad back and his chin resting on one hand. He sat up straight when he saw the three adults coming toward him.

      “Are you going to spar now?” He asked. Jaime nodded, and the boy scrambled to his feet, “I need to go get everybody!” he cried, sprinting toward the house.

      “Like it or not, you’ll be putting on a show,” Toby said.

      “How many children do you have?” Brienne asked.

      “Well, let’s see now,” Mott held up his hand and started counting on his fingers and mumbling under his breath as he folded down finger after finger, until he’d made a fist. He looked thoughtful a moment, “That makes it five boys; my eldest is a squire, so he’s not here, and little Merrie. Six.” He confirmed, “’Twould be seven, but we lost a boy many years back. Never saw his first name day, poor wee lad.”

      Brienne gave him a sympathetic smile, thinking of her little sisters. At least Mott had other children, unlike her own father. 

      She stooped to pick up Jaime’s gambeson. It was an old one, with plates of steel riveted to the heavily padded fabric. Many of the plates were missing rivets and were hanging at drunken angles. Jaime handed his sparring sword to Mott, took off his sword belt and leaned the blade against the door frame. Brienne held the garment for him to shrug into.

      “It’s been a long time since I’ve had this on,” he remarked to Toby, “we don’t practice much up north since we’re nearly always fighting.”

      Brienne helped him with the straps that closed the gambeson before picking up her own and shaking it out. She smiled to herself, noticing that hers was similar in condition to Jaime’s. They’d had many good matches while wearing them.

      Jaime began putting his sword on, steadying the blade’s tip between his feet as he inserted his stump in the padded cup. He secured all the straps while Brienne observed, familiarizing herself with how it was done. If a time came when they needed to arm quickly he might need her help.

      When he had secured the last buckle, Jaime swung the sword up slowly, testing the balance. He turned to grin at the armorer, “I can hardly believe you managed to make this so quickly, old friend. The balance is nearly as good as the other one.”

      “Aye,” Toby said, accepting his due praise with a smile.

      Brienne put on her helm and shield. Jaime stooped to pick up his helm and nearly stabbed the ground. Having a blade attached to his right hand would take some getting used to. He donned the helm and stooped to slide his left arm into the battered shield’s braces.

      The two walked out to the wide, snow covered lawn and faced each other.

      Through the open grill of his sparring helm, Brienne could see the fierce joy that lit his face. She felt a familiar flutter in her chest, recalling how that look always made her heart race with yearning for a man she thought she could never have. 

      “Come dance with me, Sweetling,” Jaime said with a seductive smile that made her blush. 

      They raised swords and shields, circling each other. It felt odd, seeing Jaime armed with a sword on the right rather than the left. Brienne could see he was a bit disconcerted as well. It had taken a long time for his left arm to answer his will as his right always had. He’d become a formidable fighter again, as good as nearly anyone that was naturally left-handed. Fighting had finally become instinctive, and now he would need to think about every move all over again.

      Brienne stepped toward him, shield forward and her sword arm aligned along the top, ready to parry whatever blow her opponent sought to land. She and Jaime analyzed each other, waiting for a first move, a tell that would begin the dance. 

      As they circled and feinted, a gaggle of red-haired boys giggling and pushing at each other arrived to watch them. Their mother also came to see, little Merrie clutched against her chest for warmth. A nubby woolen scarf draped across Moira’s shoulders and down over the baby for protection from the blowing snow.

      Jaime took the first swing, his sword arcing in an overhand blow that Brienne caught on her shield. She swept her sword around to his left side and he barely managed to block her before hitting her shield again and quickly reversing the movement to deliver a glancing strike to her shoulder. 

      Brienne was quick to sidestep and slash his chest. He caught the blow on his sword rather than his shield. His right arm lacked the strength to counter the force of her blow and was driven against him. Jaime stepped into her and brought his shield up with his stronger left arm, hooking it over her shield and yanking it away from her body as he drove his shoulder into her ribs. Brienne staggered back, recovering with a clanging blow to his helm before she wrenched her shield free and spun away. 

      Limited by the reach of his short sword, Jaime was forced to take two steps forward to attack. Brienne met his advance and their swords slithered and grated together. Jaime hooked Brienne’s ankle with his foot and she stumbled; it was enough for him to pivot around and strike her hard across the ribs.

      Brienne was finding that Jaime’s fighting was not as clean as usual. Trying to gain the advantage by tripping her was a tactic he’d seldom used since regaining some skill. If that was how he wanted to play, she thought, so be it. She took a long step back and crouched, waiting. Jaime circled, looking for an opening, watching for some sign of her intentions. 

      She edged closer to him and then swung her sword wide, forcing him to bring his shield out to block, exposing his upper body. Brienne tipped her shield forward and charged, knocking him back hard. Jaime nearly went down on one knee, but managed to brace his legs and spring at her in a single movement, stepping and pivoting to get behind her guard. His sword hit her helm so hard she rocked forward, feeling a sharp sting and then numbness above her ear. 

      After that, things got messier. It became a game to see who could knock the other off balance or foul their shield. Brienne took advantage of Jaime’s confused tendency to swing his shield like a sword and block with his blade, raining blows on all sides as he tried to make his arms obey. He increasingly charged her, getting in close, using his body to push her back, spin her around, make her falter. 

      Both were laughing and grunting, not giving an inch as they churned the snow into mud in Mott’s yard and his sons jumped up and down and yelled and shoved each other. Childish cries of _Brienne the Brave_ , _Ser Jaime_ and even _Kingslayer_ were barely heard as they continued to fight. 

      When they found themselves face to face their eyes locked, teasing and suggestive. Brienne could read the hunger and desire in Jaime’s eyes, and suddenly realized it had always been there when they sparred. With her new knowledge of how their bodies fit and moved together when they made love, she felt it too. 

      She tried to give Jaime a seductive look, daring to lick her lips suggestively. As she’d intended, he forgot to guard himself and she stepped behind his shield and whacked her sword behind his knees. He buckled and she pushed him to the ground, straddling him. She tried to demand he yield, but the look of betrayal on is face had her laughing too hard to get the word out. She slid off his lap and lay down, gasping and giggling beside him. 

      Jaime sat up and pulled his arm from the shield, then leaned over her, “You’ll pay for that later, Wench,” he growled.

      “Promise?” she smirked up at him.

      Chuckling, he got to his feet and offered her a hand up. Mott’s boys were cheering. 

      Brienne and Jaime removed their helms. Jaime dropped his onto the slushy ground and stepped in to kiss Brienne, wrapping his arms around her, careful not to knock his sword against her back or head. When their lips met the cheering abruptly stopped, and as the kiss went on they heard the boys muttering _ew_ to each other and making gagging noises. They heard a booming laugh from Mott and parted, grinning.

      “Now then, you two,” he said, “Is that any way to be behaving? I’d guess my boys have never seen two fighters smooching afore.” 

      Jaime smiled at the boys, who were in varying states of curiosity and disgust. 

      “It’s all right. We’re betrothed,” he told them, and gave Brienne one more quick kiss.

      Moira’s face lit up, “Is it so, Jaime? Oh, blessings to you both!”

      Mott walked out to them and hugged Brienne hard enough to make her ribs creak before turning to Jaime and pounding him soundly on the back. Moira joined them.

      “Lady Brienne, I’d like you to meet my wife, Moira,” Mott said.

      Moira looked up at Brienne, smiling, and then her expression changed to alarm, “M’lady, you’re bleeding! Just above your ear, there.”

      Brienne raised her hand to touch the spot on her head that had stung so earlier. There was a growing lump there, sticky with blood.

      “I guess I am,” Brienne confirmed, “but it doesn’t trouble me. Ser Jaime’s done far worse than this over the years.”

      “As you have to me,” Jaime said, stepping over to part the hair over her wound and probe it with his fingers, “If anything, Moira, this one probably just knocked some sense into her.”

      “Och, you’re terrible. Is that any way to speak of your lady? Come into the house, Lady Brienne, and I’ll clean you up so it don’t fester.” She gave Jaime a look that would terrify a lesser man, but he only laughed.

      “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Lady Mott,” Brienne said, trying to give Jaime a pleading look over the woman’s head, _please don’t make me be alone with her_ …

      “Just call me Moira, dear. I insist. Let’s get you out of that gambeson. I need to finish supper and get Merrie out of the cold anyway. You can warm yourself by the hearth.”

      Seeing there would be no rescue by Jaime, Brienne trudged over to the shop to take off her gambeson. The Mott boys followed her, offering to squire for her and sharing opinions about the fight while the brindled dog capered around them, barking. 

      She quickly unbuckled her armored garment and laid it down. Tugging at her tunic and jerkin, she realized she was sweating in the cold and far from presentable.

      “I’m fine, boys, but Ser Jaime could really use as much help as he can get. He can’t possibly get disarmed by himself.” She told them, then watched in amusement as they swarmed around Jaime tugging at his straps and buckles. When he narrowed his eyes at her she stuck out her tongue at him. _Promises_ , he mouthed back, smirking.

      Moira was at her elbow, bouncing on her toes to soothe the baby, now fussing beneath the scarf. “Come along then, Lady Brienne,” she said diffidently.

      “Please, just call me Brienne.”

      “ _Brienne_. And you’re to call me Moira, all right? Come with me while the boys talk out here in the cold. I left some mulled wine heating in the kitchen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 should be up soon with much baby holding and a gift for Brienne.
> 
> Your comments make writing for this ship all the sweeter, and I adore getting them whether short or long. Just knowing someone out there enjoyed what I wrote makes me quite happy. So...comment me, maybe? I answer each and every comment, usually shortly after I post the next chapter. 
> 
> I'm so excited for the new season of Game of Thrones! You might notice I've deviated from canon in one place here in honor of the season trailers. Can you tell what it is?
> 
> Also, thanks again to my mom and SandwichesYumYum for their humorous and wonderful suggestions on this fic. You have my mom to thank for the replacement of "fucking" with "making love" and Sandwiches for the replacement of the anachronistic "gross" with gagging noises. Keeping it real, girls.


	29. Visiting the Mott's part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Jaime and Brienne's visit to the Blacksmith and his family, in which there are plenty of curious children, an attempt at helping in the kitchen and some baby-holding. Brienne gets a gift from Jaime.
> 
> 6600 words.

     With one last look of entreaty at Jaime, Brienne followed Moira to the house. The spicy scent of simmering mulled wine wafted from the kitchen, mixing with the enticing smells of freshly baked bread and roasting meat. A fire was burning cheerily in a large hearth built into a split rock wall on the far side. A cord of cherry wood stacked in the near corner suggested it was seldom allowed to go out. Several wide chairs, also made of the reddish cherry wood and polished to a sheen, were arrayed before the fireplace, along with a scattering of footstools. Wheat colored cushions covered in the same nubby wool of Moira’s scarf graced the furniture and lay scattered around the floor haphazardly. Colorfully painted wooden knights and horses were piled in a wicker basket in one corner.

      Everything about the room seemed warm to Brienne, from the golden-brown tones of the wood framing the doors and mantle to the earthy tan and ochre of the roughly woven rugs. Soft blankets were folded and stacked on the hearthstone and hung over chairs. Thick wood beams met in a low peak across the ceiling, which sloped far down at one side, ending about five feet from the planked floor. A cradle waited against the low wall, with a generously padded chair on rockers beside it.

      Moira went to the cradle and slowly un-wrapped her voluminous scarf, trying not to wake the baby. She laid Merrie down on a thin, firm mattress covered with sheepskin and pulled a loosely knitted blanket up to her chin. Brienne stood well back, glad for the excuse of her height for not entering the low-ceilinged space. 

      Moira walked to the hearth and draped her snow-wet scarf on a hook on the mantle, a wisp of steam rising as the heat of the fire began drying the fabric. She turned to Brienne, wiping her hands down her apron and smiling shyly.

      “Welcome to our home, m’lady. May I fetch you some wine?”

      “Please, it’s ‘Brienne.’ Thank you, wine sounds lovely.”

      “I’m sorry for the mess in here,” Moira said, stooping to pick up a small carved dragon. She tossed it into the wicker basket and looked around for more, “Please sit wherever you like. If you get cold there are plenty of blankets. Even here by the fire we sometimes get a draft come creeping under the doors.”

      “The room certainly doesn’t look messy,” Brienne offered, sitting in one of the chairs and finding it quite comfortable, “I can’t imagine how you keep it so tidy with all those boys.”

      “To be honest, I made them clean up some before you came. I had to threaten to send them to bed early and miss out on meeting you and Jaime. That got them moving. Usually this room is a hazard of their toys and books. We spend most of our time here in the evenings.” 

      Brienne nodded and smiled, “It’s a very pleasant room.” 

      Moira left to get their wine from the kitchen and Brienne glanced around. It really was pleasantly homey in a way she’d only ever imagined, having been in few homes that were not connected to the nobility in some way. 

      Returning with their wine stems balanced in one hand, and a cloth in the other, Moira handed a pewter goblet to Brienne and set her own down on a small, low table between their chairs.  

      “If you wouldn’t mind, Brienne, I’d like to clean your wound a little,” Moira said, holding up the cloth, “It’ll sting, but not for long.”

      Brienne had forgotten all about her injury, but raising her hand to her head she was able to follow the crusted path of blood that had trickled down her cheek, realizing she must look frightful to gentle woman before her. She could think of no way to refuse Moira’s ministrations without appearing surly.

      “Thank you,” she murmured. 

      Moira gave her a tentative smile and stepped forward to part the sticky strands of hair over her ear to look at the wound before dabbing at it with the damp cloth. Whatever was on the warm, wet cloth smelled of smoke and cloves, and stung slightly. 

      “It’s not a very deep gash, but you know head wounds. They always bleed something awful,” Moira said, efficiently washing away the blood and running strands of Brienne’s hair through the folded cloth to clean them. “This is myrrh oil and cloves; it’ll help you heal. I know you warriors are probably more accustomed to boiled wine, but I’ve always found this distillation works better for small cuts. I use a lot of it on the boys and Toby. Toby’s always coming in with cuts and scrapes and burns from the forge. He bears it all just fine until he’s alone with me, then he’s more a baby than the boys.”

      Moira stepped back and looked at Brienne to be sure she’d cleaned away all the blood. “Does your Jaime do that? Act like a child whenever he’s hurt?”

      Brienne was surprised by how much it pleased her to have Moira refer to him as _your Jaime_. She had long thought of him that way secretly, but hearing it from someone else made it seem more real.

      “Jaime is very stoic when he’s wounded,” she said, “I think he likes being fussed over, even if he’d never admit it. But, sometimes when I’m wounded, he gets…he acts…not like a baby, but he gets quite upset. He frets over me and always insists on tending my wounds himself, or, if I need a maester, he has to be right there, too.” Brienne shrugged, not sure how to describe his behavior.

      “He mothers you,” Moira said, sighing happily.

      “He ‘mothers’ me?” Brienne asked, confused.

      “He loves you.” She clarified, “His fretting over you shows how much he cares. A mother’s love is selfless. It’s pure. I’m sure there’s a better way to say it, but to me that makes the most sense."

      Brienne sipped her wine and looked into the fire before answering. It was an odd way to describe how Jaime took care of her, though ever since she’d nearly died in the battle with the brotherhood he was an awful scold whenever she was hurt.

      “I’m…in truth Moira, I’m still not sure I understand what you mean. My own mother died when I was very young. If I ever knew a mother’s love, I don’t remember it well.”

      “Oh. I’m so sorry, Brienne. There’s little so sad as a child growing up without a mother,” Moira said, reaching over to lay her hand briefly over Brienne’s, “What I meant wasn't that Jaime’s love isn’t romantic, or that he sees you as a child. It’s that you’re a part of him. As the saying goes: ‘he is mine, and I am his’. Jaime lost his mother quite young also, didn’t he?”

      Brienne nodded, “He remembers his mother, what she was like, that she loved him. I think if not for that he might have become as hard as his father. Lord Tywin was not a good man.” 

      “You know, I met Ser Jaime when he was about twenty,” Moira mused, “the poor lad was already known as the Kingslayer, and had a belligerent arrogance about him that I misliked immediately. I could see why he put on airs; he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, north or south. I was a newly married woman, and crazy in love with Toby, but there were few women that could look at young Ser Jaime Lannister and not wonder ‘ _what if_?’”

      Brienne nodded, fascinated by this glimpse into Jaime’s past.

      “I said some unkind things about him to Toby when he’d gone, for nothing gets a young woman’s ire up more than seeing a man like that, wearing his disdain like a mantle,” she smiled, remembering. “Toby told me he’d known Jaime since he was quite young, always coming up here to pepper him with questions about his training in Qohor, asking to try out every fresh sword Toby made. When he became a member of the King’s Guard so young, he came less often. Yet when he did, he was always eager, and civil to Toby as ever. 

      “After he killed the Mad King, he changed. For a long while, anyway. Toby said he carried a great weight on his shoulders, expecting everyone to despise him for his broken vows,” Moira took a swallow of her wine, “It took a long time for Jaime to figure out that, to Toby anyway, he was still the same young man he’d always been. Still, even though I knew his story, it was years before I was allowed to glimpse the man rather than the Kingslayer.”

      “He hated that name,” Brienne murmured, “yet he wore it like armor.” She felt sad, thinking of how many years Jaime had kept his secret, never telling anyone the truth of his finest deed. 

      “What was he like, when you first met him?” Moira asked.

      “Beautiful, arrogant, insufferable; just like you said,” Brienne smiled at the memory, “He still is. I hated him, Moira.”

      “And now you love him.”

      “So very much,” It felt good to be able to tell someone else how she felt about Jaime, and Moira’s sincere smile felt like a blessing.

      It was easy to confide in her for some reason. She’d never had a close female friend before. When Brienne was younger there had been other girls in and around her father’s keep she'd played with. But her septa soon made it clear she wasn't like other girls, and lacked any of the qualities that were valued in young ladies. Brienne began to keep to herself after that.  

      They fell silent for a moment and Brienne lifted the wine cup to her nose and inhaled deeply, detecting cinnamon, citrus and a hint of ginger. She took a sip.

      “This is really delicious,” she said, “I’ve never tasted it’s like before.” She took another sip, letting it rest on her tongue a moment before swallowing. “Mmm, is there rum in this, too?”

      Moira laughed, “Good guess. It’s an old family recipe, though I admit I splash a little more rum in than is traditional. I also find if I have a bit of this before feeding the baby she sleeps easier as well."

      Unable to keep the surprise from her face, Brienne said, “Truly? I had no idea you could do something like that. But then, I don’t know much about babies.” She admitted, immediately wishing she hadn’t. They’d already strayed too far into the topic of mothers for her comfort.

      “I know what you mean,” Moira said, “I never expected to have such a brood of my own. There were times after my first couple were born when I wished I’d paid more attention when other women talked about babies. Before I met Toby the last thing I was interested in was children.”

      “Really? I thought…well, most women seem to think of little else.” Brienne said.

      “I know,” Moira sighed, “How they bored me! Of course, I love my own lads and little Merrie-Pie, but when I was younger my favorite thing was helping my father in his shop. He was a blacksmith as well, up north, and I wanted to be a silversmith. He indulged my interest.”

      “Do you still practice the craft?” Brienne asked, intrigued.

      “I do when I can find the time. I have a room here in the house where the boys aren’t allowed, and I take commissions from time to time. I’m hoping Merrie takes an interest in it when she’s older.” 

      “I think your husband is hoping she’ll take to steel instead,” Brienne told her with a laugh. 

      “He would, the single-minded fool.” Moira said fondly. “I met him when he came to see my father about learning a northern technique he specialized in. He tried to flatter me by complimenting my work, but I was having none of it. Can you imagine, he tried to court me by sending me a little dagger to wear above my ankle? Said it was to keep the other boys away.”

      “That sounds quite romantic to me, actually,” Brienne grinned.

      “It was. It worked.”

      Brienne found herself relaxing more and more in the company of Mott’s wife, and not entirely owing to the strong drink.

      “If you’ll excuse me, Brienne, I need to check on the supper.”

      “Would you like some help?” she offered, sincerely hoping the answer would be _no_. She hadn’t the vaguest idea how one prepared anything but basic camp food.

      “If you’d like.”

      Brienne followed her into the kitchen, bringing her wine and hoping she wouldn’t be asked to do more than stir anything. Moira led her into a spacious room that combined the cooking and dining areas. The aroma of cooking Brienne had noted earlier was stronger, and she hoped her stomach wouldn’t growl. The room was warm from the heat of the cavernous clay oven, and wood-topped tables lined the walls around the cooking space. A couple of crusty loaves of bread rested on one next to a stone bowl of churned butter, while others were covered in pans, pots, plates and ingredients. 

      Using a thick square of cloth, Moira lifted the lid from the pot hanging over the oven’s flames and peered inside. Brienne caught a glimpse of a browning hunk of meat simmering in a bath of its own juices along with chopped onions and carrots. She wondered how it was that commoners, even those as well-off as the Motts, ate so much better than those living in the Keep. She also wondered how Moira had managed to make anything involving carrots and onions smell so savory.

      “Yes, that looks just about done,” Moira said, picking up an iron pan and a ladle. “I’ll just drain off some of the broth to make gravy. Would you be a dear and get me a cup of flour from the table to the left there?”

      Brienne turned to look at the array of stone containers and groaned inwardly. She’d approached enemies with less trepidation than she did that line of identical jars. One after the other she quietly lifted lids to see if she could recognize any of the contents as flour. Two seemed likely, so she picked up the largest of the cups on the table and dipped it into one, sending a silent prayer to the Crone for guidance. She carried the filled cup to Moira and handed it to her.

      Moira had just finished straining broth into the pan. At Brienne’s muttered ‘ _here_ ’ she took the cup and began slowly pouring the contents into the pan, using a whisk to blend it in. Almost immediately she let out a little noise and stepped back, looking in consternation at the cup and then at Brienne.

      Moira bit her lip when she saw Brienne’s wide-eyed look and the deep flush on her face, then burst out laughing. “M’lady, I’m so sorry! I had completely forgotten how highborn you are, what with how easy your company is. You’ve not cooked much, I take it?”

      Brienne was as startled by being considered _easy company_ as she was by Moira’s laughter. She ventured a tentative smile, “That’s not flour then, I take it?”

      “Let’s just say the gravy will be a might salty tonight,” Moira said, carrying the cup back to the jars. She dumped the salt back into its container and then used it to scoop out some flour from the other jar Brienne had considered.

      “Is it ruined? I’m so sorry. When we cook in camp we…”

      “Oh, Sweetling, don’t you worry,” Moira assured her, “I expect it’s better than some of the dishes I cooked when Toby and I first married. I’ll just add more broth and it’ll be fine. Why don’t you refill your wine and go warm yourself by the fire? The boy’s noses will bring them inside soon. When they see you they’ll stay out of my hair while I finish the cooking.”

      Brienne did as she was asked and poured more of the warm wine into her cup and Moira’s before retreating back to the living room. 

      She settled back into the chair and used her feet to position one of the footstools. The wine and the fire made her warm and drowsy, and her thoughts went to the house by the dragon pit. She pictured herself curled up with Jaime before the fire in the front room. They'd also have mulled wine with rum, and soft blankets and cushions to lie on. Jaime would kiss her, tasting of cloves, his mouth warm on hers...

      The sound of childish voices and stomping boots woke her from her reverie. The door flew open and the Mott boys tumbled inside, shedding cloaks and boots as they made their way to Brienne and the fire.

      "You boys had better not be leaving your things out to be tripped on!" Moira called from the kitchen, "If I find one boot in the middle of the floor and you'll all be off to bed without supper..."

      With a collective groan, all five boys ran to hang up their cloaks on hooks by the door and line up their boots. Brienne watched them, impressed with their mother's authority.

      The smallest boy trotted ahead of his brothers and surprised her by climbing over her outstretched legs to settle in her lap. "Bwienne," he said happily, leaning back against her.

      "Hello. What's your name?" She asked.

      "Bwienne," he said with emphasis.

      She looked to the older boys situating themselves all around her, on the floor and on chairs.

      "We just call 'im Quart," the next youngest boy said.

      "Short for 'quarter staff,' 'cause he's the littlest." Explained another boy, "but he's really a lot shorter than a real one."

      "Well met, Quart," Brienne said, ruffling the boy's red hair. 

      "I'm 'Tinker,'" said the largest boy, who had taken the chair next to her.

      "Quart, Tinker, Toby," Brienne said, identifying each boy whose name she knew. She looked at the boy who had told her Quart's name, "and what are you called?"

      "Tongs," he told her.

      "And you?" She asked the final boy, whose ginger hair stood up in spikes.

      "Frecklefire," he said, giving her a huge grin.

      "Frecklefire?" She said doubtfully, and the boy nodded.

      "We wanna hear about the bear," Tongs said, coming to stand by her chair, "how big was it?"

      And then all of the boys were talking excitedly over each other.

      "Will you show us where it clawed you?"

      "Did it bite you?"

      "Was its breath stinky?"

      "I bet it sounded like a lion!"

      "Did Ser Jaime jump on its back and ride it?"

      "Was it as tall as you?"

      "I bet that bear was scared once he saw you."

      "Shut up, Quart. Bears aren't afraid of anything, are they Ser?"

      Brienne suppressed a laugh at all the questions. "I'll tell you the story, if you like. But Ser Jaime tells it much better."

      "Aw, we asked him outside and he said you told it better!"

      "He said the bear bit off his hand, but then he laughed!"

      "Where's his hand now, Lady Brienne? Did he really have it dipped in gold so he could wear it?"

      Moira walked out from the kitchen, carrying her wine and smiling apologetically, "Are you lads pestering the lady?"

      "No, Mum, we was being polite," Tinker said, looking pleadingly at Brienne for confirmation.

      “They’re fine, Moira. Just very curious.”

      “I see little Quentin has decided to warm your lap.”

      “I thought his name was Quart…”

      “No, I’m afraid their father is fond of giving them nicknames. If Merrie had been a boy he’d probably be calling her ‘Anvil’ by now,” she said, “Timmy, out of my chair.”

      The oldest boy that had called himself ‘Tinker’ gave up the chair readily and sat down on a cushion facing them.

      “Quentin recently had his third name day, Torvyl here is five, and Brand is about to be seven. You know Toby, I take it?”

      “Yes,” Brienne confirmed, wondering how the Mott’s managed to remember it all.

      “Our oldest boy, Darven, is squiring out to the Red Keep. He’s thirteen, and fancies himself quite the adult now. So what are the boys after you about?”

      “Oh, they wanted to know…”

      Just then a squalling cry rose from the crib near the wall. With a sigh, Moira set down her wine and went to attend to Merrie. Tinker immediately got back into the chair.

      “Bear stowy, Bwienne!” Quart sang out, and turned so he could gaze up at her while she talked.

      “All right,” Brienne laughed. She thought about how to begin the story for the children, finally starting with, “Ser Jaime and I had been captured by some very bad men,” when Moira came back carrying Merrie.

      “Out,” she told Tinker, who once again vacated the chair. Moira sat down with Merrie in her arms. Brienne hadn’t seen the little girl awake before, and was surprised to see her wide blue eyes regarding her seriously. 

      “Stowy!” the boy in her lap reminded her, and she resumed, “The bad men had cruelly taken Ser Jaime’s sword hand and then decided to send him back to his family. They decided to keep me and make me…”

      “Oh!” Moira exclaimed, “I forgot about the potatoes I left boiling. Brienne, would you hold Merrie while I go take care of them?”

      “Um, sure, Moira. But I don’t have any experience with babies. Maybe one of the boys should hold her instead?”

      “Nonsense.” Moira said, “There’s nothing to it, and someday when you have your own bairn with Ser Jaime, he won’t be the only one to know how to hold it. Quart, get down so Brienne can hold your sister.”

      The little boy reluctantly slid off her lap as Brienne looked up at his mother doubtfully. Moira set Merrie in her arms and adjusted her hands a bit to support the baby. Without a qualm, she walked back into the kitchen.

      Quart immediately crawled back into Brienne’s lap and managed to get under her arm until she was holding both he and Merrie.

      “He still thinks he’s the baby,” Tinker said, getting back in Moira’s chair.

      The door opened and a blast of cold air followed Jaime and Mott in. Brienne looked back over her chair at them. She knew Jaime couldn’t see that she had her arms full. He gave her a reassuring smile, seeing some of the boys arranged around her.

      “I’ll just get us some wine, then,” Mott said, and headed for the kitchen. 

      Jaime walked to the hearth, intending to sit in the empty chair on the other side of Brienne. He stopped when he saw the two children snuggled against her. He tilted his head, a smile lighting his eyes. Brienne couldn’t decide if he was amused at seeing her pressed into service as a cushion or if he was just a bit pleased at how domestic the scene was. Probably both. 

      By the glimmer in his eye, she suspected there might be an even stronger emotion at play. They’d barely discussed having their own children, but the look on his face as he sat down next to her and reached out to stroke her hair told her he was thinking about their future, when they might start a family of their own.

      Merrie squirmed in Brienne’s arms until she could see Jaime as well. She was drooling a little.

      “Ew, Merrie!” Quart said, “Babies are so disgusting!”

      Jaime and Brienne laughed, and the import of the moment passed.

      “How are you faring, Bearenne?” Jaime asked in a low voice.

      “Bwienne.” Quart said indignantly, “not _Bear_ enne.”

      “Bearenne is a nickname,” Jaime explained, “But I’m the only one who calls her that. Isn’t that right, Bearenne?”

      “Oh no, don’t get them started on nicknames,” Brienne said, shifting in her chair as Merrie leaned back dangerously to peer up at her. It was difficult to juggle both children, and Quart seemed immovably solid, unwilling to give an inch over to his sister. 

      “Here,” Jaime said, moving his chair closer so he could reach over to steady Merrie’s back. Merrie pushed herself against his hand, using the leverage to straighten her legs as though she were standing. Jaime leaned in closer, concerned that she would topple. The baby took the opportunity to grab a handful of his hair to steady herself.

      Giggling at Jaime’s expression, Brienne tried to unfold the tiny, fat fingers from his hair, succeeding only in allowing the baby to grab some of her own. She started to laugh at their ridiculous position; held hostage by a baby using their hair like reins, pulling their heads down. A big toothless grin bloomed on the baby’s chubby face, and she made a cooing sound.

      Jaime tried to wrap his right arm around the girl, thinking perhaps to bring her onto his own lap. He had a good grip on her with both arms, but not as good as she had on them. One of them was going to have their hair torn out by the roots if he wasn’t careful. 

      “I’ve got her,” he told Brienne, “Use your hands to make her let you go.”

      Brienne lifted one hand to the tiny fist tangled in her hair and tried to get her other hand up without letting Quart fall. As they were struggling they heard a loud guffaw from Mott, who was walking over to them with two cups of wine. Brienne saw that Moira was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter.

      “Moira says I ought to rescue you,” he said, setting the wine on the low table, “though it’s not every day one gets to see a tiny slip of a girl conquer both Brienne and Brave and Ser Jaime Lannister.”

      He easily lifted Merrie from Jaime’s grip, using one hand to pry her fingers lose from Brienne’s hair and then Jaime’s. 

      “How long did you stand there just watching us?” Jaime asked in an aggrieved tone.

      “A while,” Mott said, “but seeing as Merrie was in no danger, we thought we’d wait to see what happened. You had them, didn’t you, Merrie-Pie?”

      “I’m certain the White Walkers would quiver in terror if you she were ever to go to the wall,” Jaime said drily, straightening in his chair.

      Mott grinned, “Not likely. But I do think the lass has you two outnumbered.” He handed Jaime one of the wine cups, “Out of the chair, Tinker,” he said absently. 

      The eldest slid out of the chair next to Brienne and sat on the floor facing them. Mott eased himself into the chair with a groan. He easily cradled his daughter in his arms, and when she grabbed his whiskers he hardly seemed to notice.

      “So, Ser Jaime tells me you plan to train those great beasts of the queen’s over in yon dragon pit,” he said, taking a generous drink of his wine, “Must say, doesn’t sound a sensible occupation.” He turned his head to look at Brienne, as though to judge her fitness for the task.

      “Fighting the Others is not terribly ‘sensible,’ either, my lord,” Brienne said, “but if I can train Viserion we might be able to end the battle all the sooner.”

      “Aye, so Jaime tells me, though myself I wonder if killing the Walkers will be enough. The legends speak of a great hero wielding a sword that burned with magical fire. Lightbringer, it was called. Ever heard of it?”

      “Of course,” Brienne said, “It’s a popular tale. All children seem to be raised on tales the Last Hero, along with stories of grumkins and unicorns. If there was such a flaming sword, it was probably a trick done with wild fire or some such, and then the tale was embellished by bards.”

      “Could be,” Mott mused, “though of course most blacksmiths would like to think they’ll be the one to forge the great sword. What I’m getting at is that while dragons have ended wars before now, I’ve never heard of them having any effect on the weather. If we’re in for another Long Night, they might not be the solution.”

      “Ending the winter isn’t my goal; saving lives is. The more Walkers and Wights we can kill, and the more supplies we can bring to starving troops, the better chance we have of surviving a long winter. If Azor Ahai comes along, he’ll be welcome to push back the winter. Meanwhile, we need all the strength available to us.” 

      “You’re right, Jaime, the girl is determined,” Mott said, looking past Brienne to her betrothed. 

      Brienne turned to look at Jaime, a frown creasing her brow, “Jaime, did you ask Toby to try to talk me out of training the dragons?”

      “ _Dragon_ , Brienne. Just the one. But no, Mott sees the danger, just as I do. I told him I couldn’t sway you. I did ask him if he would help us with designing a saddle and bridle for the beast.”

      “Do you have much knowledge of saddlery?” Brienne asked, turning back to Toby.

      “Aye, I’ve learned a bit here and there. Enough so I could come look at the beast and make some sketches. I know all the best craftsmen in King’s Landing; what I can’t do myself I’ll find someone who can.”

      “Oh, you’ll get to meet them, then!” Brienne said, “And, er, help with some ideas, of course.”

      “Didn’t I tell you, Toby? She’s in love with them. Thinks they’re big cats or something.” Jaime said.

      “One of them likes Jaime,” Brienne said, “The green one, Rhaegal, _really_ wanted his attention.”  

      “Interesting,” Mott said with a smirk, “That one must be a female, I take it?”

      “They’re all male,” Jaime said, then looked at Brienne for confirmation, “Aren’t they?”

      “I thought they were. Her Grace always refers to them that way.” Brienne frowned, thinking about it, “But I’m not sure if she knows for certain. I didn’t see any sign of…well, dragon bits, if you know what I mean.”

      Jaime laughed at her embarrassment. “I suppose if they did have bollocks they could be gelded like stallions, to make them more tame. Also, if one of them _is_ female, and goes into heat around a male, things could get even more dangerous.”

      “I’ve asked Tyrion to have someone look in the Keep for anything left of the old lore,” Brienne mused, “maybe we’ll find some answers there, along with paintings showing the dragons being ridden, to show us how they were equipped.”

      “That would help.” Toby said, “Ah, there’s Moira. Looks like supper is ready. Boys, go help your mother.”

      There was a flurry of movement as four of the boys rose and trotted to the kitchen, following their mother inside. Brienne realized that Quart had fallen asleep on her lap with a thumb in his mouth. Mott rose with Merrie, looking down at them and smiling.

      “You make a pretty picture with a child asleep on your lap, m’lady. Don’t you think so, Ser Jaime?”

      Jaime stood up next to Mott, hands on hips, and sought Brienne’s eye, “None prettier,” he agreed, “Here, Sweetling, let me take the boy so you can get up.”

      Jaime lifted the sleeping child off her lap and held him against his chest, Quart’s head resting against his shoulder. Brienne was surprised to find she missed the weight and warmth of him.

      “You’ll think it an even prettier picture when she’s got a blond bairn of yours to hold.” Mott said easily, turning to carry Merrie back to her crib.

      “He’s right, of course,” Jaime said softly, leaning in to press his lips to Brienne’s as she also stood. 

      Sudden warmth spread out from her heart. She’d been in love with Jaime for a long time, but a fortnight ago she’d have been happy just to continue on the way they’d been, the best of friends, sleeping in the same bedroll, occasionally crossing the line to kissing when they were drunk. Now they were betrothed, they’d made love. The idea of there being children in their future should have bewildered her as much as everything else, but instead she found it surprisingly natural. Really, she was starting to feel like it had always been this way between them. Perhaps it had.

      Mott took Quart from Jaime at the entrance to the kitchen. The boy had woken up, and his father set him in a chair with a fat pillow on it. The other boys were standing behind chairs, except for young Toby, who stood next to his mother. Moira had the roast on a plate, already sliced atop its bed of vegetables. Toby had a set of tongs at the ready. 

      Jaime and Brienne took their places across from each other at the far side of the table. Mott positioned himself at the end of the table closest to them. Bread and butter were laid out at both ends of the table, along with stone pitchers of gravy. Metal plates were set at each place.

      At a nod, everyone sat down with the exception of Moira and Toby, who served the roast before joining the rest. Once everyone was seated, they began to eat.

      Brienne felt odd being at the opposite end of the table from Moira, who spent most of the meal trying to keep the boys in line while all of the interesting conversation happened at the other end between her and Jaime and Mott. 

      The food was as delicious as it had smelled, and she was grateful that Moira had caught her error with the salt earlier. She would have hated to be the cause of ruining the meal. 

      When everyone was finished eating, two of the boys, Tinker and Brand, began removing plates, while the others removed the food. Little Quart followed with a wet cloth and wiped the wood table. Everyone seemed to have a job to do.

      Moira refilled the wine glasses and sat down next to Jaime after sending the boys to dress for bed.

      “I’m impressed with your boys,” Jaime told her, “How do you manage to keep them so respectful and well-behaved?”

      “Threats,” Moira answered blandly. 

      “They’re really good lads,” Toby said, “Though they’re all being especially good tonight. They’re counting on staying up late and visiting with you two.”

      “Though while the four of us are alone for the moment, I understand there’s something Jaime wished to do?” Moira said.

      “If Brienne doesn’t mind,” Jaime said to Moira. 

      Then he was smiling across at her, biting his lip in anticipation, “My lady, I have a gift for you, a betrothal gift. May I give it to you now?”

      Brienne nodded, blushing. Jaime walked over and sat down next to her, pulling the small bundle wrapped in blue cloth from his boot. He held it out and she took it from his hand. By the shape it was obviously a small weapon of some kind.

     [](http://www.terrypond.com/liondaggerlg.jpg)Unfolding the cloth gently, she revealed a dagger in a red scabbard. It was so beautiful that she inhaled in surprise as she held it up to examine it. The hilt of the dagger was a gold lion with sapphires for eyes. Its mane curled down the length of the hilt, its tail curling up over its flank. The cross guards were made of pale quartz with hints of rose and blue and shaped like two crescent moons. A golden sunburst rose near the top of the red leather scabbard. 

      Jaime had managed to combine their house sigils; the sunburst and crescent moons of Tarth and the golden lion of House Lannister.

      “It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, turning it to catch the light. 

      Jaime laughed happily, “And you’ve not even seen the blade yet, Wench. Go ahead and draw it.”

      She removed the dagger from its scabbard and looked at the blade. The workmanship was obviously Mott’s. Even in the low light of the kitchen Brienne could tell the edge would be deadly sharp. What really caught her eye, though, was the darkly glimmering center of the blade. Dragonglass.

      Tears stood in her eyes as re-sheathed the blade and set it on the table so that she could hug Jaime.

      “It’s so perfect,” she whispered in his ear.

      When she sat back Jaime set his hand atop hers, “It’s fortunate for me that you said ‘yes,’ to my proposal,” Jaime told her, “Otherwise I’d have looked rather foolish commissioning a dagger with suns, moons and lions.” 

      “He designed it himself, you know,” Mott cut in, grinning.

      “You did?” Brienne asked, astonished.

      “Well, I made some sketches. Rather bad ones. Fortunately, between the goldsmith and Toby they were able to make it work.”

      “You’ve done a remarkable job on the blade, Toby,” Brienne said, “I shall have to think of a name to match such a fine dagger.”

      “Between the Dragonglass dagger and your Valyrian steel sword, the Others won’t stand a chance,” Moira said.

      “If only Jaime had a Valyrian steel sword as well,” Brienne said wistfully, “but at least he has his new sword with the Dragonglass. We’re going to have to practice quite a lot, my love, if you are going to be fighting right-handed again.”

      “With pleasure, my Lady. You know how much I love sparring with you.”

      Brienne blushed, picking up on the underlying meaning of his words. Would she ever think of sparring with him again without picturing him naked as his name day, ready to spar with her in more intimate ways? She doubted it, since she found herself thinking of it quite often even when sparring wasn’t mentioned.

      “I think the boys are getting rather impatient,” Moira said, “I’ve seen at least three of them come to peek in at us. Shall we go sit by the fire? Toby, if you ‘ll carry my cup, I’ll just get Merrie.”

      For the next hour or so, Brienne and Jaime sat and answered the boys’ eager questions and told them stories of their quests and battles. Their parents finally shooed them off to their beds so the guests could make their way back home.

      Outside, the wind was blowing, though the snow was light. Sean and Fluffy were quickly saddled despite their grumpiness at being taken out at night. 

      “They’ve already forgotten that they need to be ready to travel, day or night,” Jaime said, handing Fluffy a carrot he’d begged from Moira.

      “It will be a rude shock to all of us when we go back to fighting all night and sleeping during the day,” Brienne said, “I never would have guessed I would welcome spending time in the Red Keep.”

      “We’d best make the most of what time is left.” Jaime said, then turned to Mott, who was wrapped in his cloak and yawning, “You’d best get to bed, old man. Thank you for everything. I’ll return the lantern when you come by to meet the dragons.”

      “Aye. Send word when you’ll be at the pit and I’ll try to come by. Moira says not to forget to let us know when the wedding is.”

      “You’ll be one of the first to know,” Brienne assured him.

      “But remember not to tell anyone else,” Jaime reminded him.

      “Aye,” Mott said, yawning again, “Ride safely.”

      They mounted the horses and rode back down the slippery street of steel, Brienne holding the borrowed lantern. It cast very little light, but she felt better for having it anyway. The snowlight helped light the way, but the trip home seemed to take a long time. She was ready to be back in their chambers in Maegor’s holdfast, with a roaring fire and the big bed. They were both tired from the day, though Brienne suspected she would have little trouble convincing Jaime to stay up just a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to Sandwiches YumYum and my Mom for reading and commenting on this as I was working on it. You girls are the chocolate biscuits in my coffee.
> 
> If you click on the first dagger image it will take you to a larger version.
> 
> Your comments are so important to me! I usually comment as soon as I post the next chapter, so don't feel like in the meantime I'm not going back and re-reading them to keep me inspired. Every time I get a new comment I do a little happy dance. Short and long and medium comments all make me happy. I just like to know you're out there fangirling along with me.
> 
> Also, now we've all seen episode 1 of season 4, right? At first I was a tiny bit underwhelmed, but the more I re-watch it (all scenes with Jaime or Brienne or Arya and the Hound) the better I like it. It's difficult after a hiatus of reading fanfiction and obsessing over the show not to expect our OTP to immediately run away together.


	30. Cersei's Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei's Point of View a day and a half after she had her hand in Jaime's breeches and was seen by Brienne. This chapter follows Cersei at the same time that Jaime and Brienne are visiting the Dragon Pitt and, later, the Mott's (chapters 27-29).
> 
> Cersei Snark alert for next 3000 words or so.

Cersei rolled over with a groan and wrapped her Stark Swan pillow over her head. The light coming in the windows of her chamber in the Maidenvault was as dismal as her mood, but it still hurt her eyes. Her head ached from a strike she’d taken on her helm the day before and from too much wine (every night before). Her legs were stiff and her arms felt like heavy, wet towels after yesterday’s practice.

She’d been training for a week now, and Ser Barristan had deemed it time for all new fighters to trade up to heavier sparring swords.  She’d barely worked up to swinging the one she’d started with for any length of time, and that was using Beastly Brienne’s technique of using her hips to power the thrust. The new sword was blunted as well, but weighed at least a half stone more. Too bad they’d not seen fit to trust her with a bladed weapon yet; she’d have dearly liked to “accidentally” trip and geld Ser Barristan the Old for good.

It had been a day and a half since she’d managed to drive the hideous Brienne away from Jaime. She’d seen neither of them since, and neither had the crone at the door; at least that the senile old thing remembered. Brienne had probably kicked Jaime out of her chambers in the Maidenvault and was hiding in there now, crying her bulgy blue eyes out. Cersei still found it hard to believe the great cow had fooled herself into thinking Jaime cared for her. 

The Beast had seen her handling Jaime’s cock, and even one of such doubtful womanly sense had to see he’d been claimed by another. Someone with a much stronger, previous claim.

Just thinking of her triumph improved Cersei’s mood. Practice was starting later today so that the trainees could begin fighting in the dark just as they would be doing up north. She would have time to get something for breakfast in the dining hall rather than the squire’s barracks for a change. Maybe she’d see Jaime there, crying in his morning ale. If not, she could catch up on the latest gossip. Surely a rift between Brienne the Brawn and Ser Jaime Lannister would occasion some comment among the populace of the Red Keep.

Cersei stretched her sore arms over her head and got out of bed. Several gowns were pressed and ready for her in the wardrobe. She took care in choosing one that would draw attention, yet not intimidate anyone likely to share gossip.  The green one with gold accents would do nicely; it provided a tantalizing yet subtle show of her cleavage and set off her eyes. She chose a long-sleeved silk under-tunic that would cover the colorful bruises on her arms and keep her warm enough as she crossed the yard to the hall.

A careful application of kohl to her eyes and several dozen brushstrokes through her luxuriant hair later, she was ready to go. Cersei felt a certain pride that she’d become so self-sufficient, getting ready without the help of a maid. She’d rather have had the maid, but one must take credit where one could.

Cersei walked up the hall to the doors of the Maidenvault, hoping to catch a glimpse of a very miserable Brienne, but the corridor was empty. A whole day had passed; surely the freckled freak couldn’t sulk forever. 

Stopping at Helyn’s chair, she asked the woman if she’d seen Ser Jaime or Lady Brienne.

“No Mum, that I haven’t. Not in a while, I believe. Days and days gone, mayhap as much as a fortnight since I saw either one.”

“A…fortnight,” Cersei said coldly, “That long do you think?”

“Believe so, though the old queen’s brother was here not so long ago.”

“Which one?” Cersei asked sharply, fighting the urge to shake the woman until her shriveled old brain rattled.

“Oh, the blond one, Mum. Yes, that one.”

Cersei huffed and began to walk away, but Helyn cleared her throat to say something else, so she turned back impatiently.

“Now, there was a couple servants come by to pack up the Lady’s things a while back. Hope they wasn’t thieves, but they seemed to know what they was about. Took her fighting things and everything.”

This _was_ news! Maybe Brienne had been so disheartened that she’d tucked her tail between her huge thighs and run back to Tarth. Or even left on her own to return north to the fighting. Or become a hedge knight…She owed no one fealty and could do as she pleased. If she’d left the Keep then Cersei had won even more decisively than she’d first thought. Jaime was still a prisoner of the crown; he would have had to stay.

Cersei nodded pleasantly to Helyn and left the building with a lightness in her step that only slightly dampened by the deep snow she had to push her way through. 

She was grateful for the warmer air of the building that housed the small hall. The day was starting off so well it gave her hope there might even be something worth eating for breakfast. 

Sadly, the usual smells assaulted her nose as she entered the hall: old fish, cold grease, and spilled Hippocras, a scent that always saddened her. She spotted Loras and that new knight, Ser Dwayne, seated at a table. There were a couple of women at one end of their table, along with some empty seats next to the knights. She straightened her posture and gave her hips an extra sway as she walked over and sat next to the big knight and across from Ser Loras.

“Cersei,” Loras acknowledged her, his smile strained. What was up _his_ bum?

“My lady,” Ser Dwayne acknowledged more formally, a kind smile on his handsome face. 

“Good Sers,” Cersei said, gracing them with a smile, “Have you already broken you fast?” she said, eyeing their half-empty trenchers.

“Yes, we were just finishing up,” Loras said with a frown at Dwayne.

“Indeed, I believe we’ve eaten our fill, and must be about the day’s training.” Dwayne said, “I do recommend the Dragon Talons, though, my lady. They’re a new delicacy on offer this morning.”

Loras’s expression lightened, “Ser Dwayne is correct; as you can see we ordered some ourselves. This plate was heaped twice as high with them when it was brought. You must try the thistle jam as well, Lady Cersei. I understand it was only recently discovered in a cellar, part of a king’s personal supply.”

“Really?” Cersei said, peering up through her lashes at Dwayne, “It sounds as though the food may finally be improving. I simply don’t know what the Targaryen Tart is about with all of the awful food these days. Are you _sure_ you can’t stay to keep me company while I dine?”

“I regret that we cannot,” Ser Dwayne said, “We have already lingered too long. Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne were here with us earlier and departed nigh on a half hour ago.”

“Ser Jaime _and_ Lady Brienne?”

“Oh yes,” Loras said, his smile widening, “They had business in King’s Landing, I believe. “

“Yes,” Dwayne said blandly, “They arrived from their new room in Maegor’s Holdfast before we got here, though only by a few minutes.”

“ _Their_ new room?”

“Courtesy of your brother Tyrion, I believe, my lady. It seems his influence grows with the queen more by the day.” Loras added.

Cersei sat stunned for a moment as this new information sunk in. Tyrion. Had he done this in retaliation for her triumph the other night? When he’d come to ask her what she’d done with Jaime he had seemed very determined about _something_. He was plotting against her, it was the only explanation. The little turd always held onto a grudge.

Yet, Brienne had _run_ when she’d seen her with Jaime. The look of anguish on her face…that wonderful look of complete betrayal. Wasted. Why were they still together?

With a start, Cersei realized that the two knights were looking at her curiously. 

“Where is the servant?” Cersei asked imperiously, “I'd like to order some of those talons, if they're as good as you say.”

“Be sure not to miss the thistle jam,” Loras reminded her.

“No, you don't want to miss that,” Ser Dwayne said jovially, “Loras quite enjoyed it, I believe.”

“Indeed, I did,” Loras said, exchanging a look with the tall knight, “Nearly as much as the talons. I regret we must depart now, my lady, and leave you to your meal. It looks like the servant is on her way; you’ll not have long to wait.”

The men rose hastily and Cersei watched them walk away, admiring Ser Dwayne’s rounded posterior. _Now there was a man that might be worth pursuing_.

Jenna bustled up to the table, “I am so sorry for the delay, m’lady! Someone got the bright idea to open a big, mysterious jar was found in an old cellar t’other day. Seems ‘twas some sort of meat, though that’s just a guess as it had turned to liquid over time. We had to clear the kitchen to let it air-out as folk were gagging and near to fainting. Cook ruined a whole batch of pork and eggs when he vomited on the griddle,” she said in a breathless rush, “Now, what can I get you, m’lady?”

“Wine,” Cersei said coldly, “and leave the flagon.”

“Are you sure, m’lady? We’ve got the new dragon talons…no one’s been sick on those. Well, not while they was cooking, anyway,”

“Wine,” Cersei nearly growled. 

The woman retreated, properly cowed, and Cersei began to look around at the other diners in the hall, listening for threads of gossip. The two women lingering over their ale at the end of her table were talking animatedly to a third woman that had joined them. Cersei caught the word “wedding” and tilted her head to listen. Weddings always proved to be a source of intrigue. 

“We heard it with our own ears, Mynerva,” a plump gray-haired woman with ruddy cheeks was saying excitedly, “Right here at this table! They’re trying to hush it up; seemed very keen on keeping the Queen from finding out.”

“Is the Lady with child, do you suppose?” the newcomer asked in a carrying whisper, folding her pink woolen cloak and setting it on the bench beside her.

“Oh, wouldn’t _that_ be something?” mused the third woman, clasping her veined hands together delightedly, “But why else would they be so secretive? Most young women would want to announce their betrothal right away. Especially to such a handsome man…”

The servant brought her wine and poured a goblet for her. Cersei waved her away at once and tried to scoot a little closer to the trio, intrigued. The couple in question must be highborn to merit such excited discussion, particularly if the Queen would bother to take notice of their nuptials. A handsome man, a possible wanton woman…

“Aye, he is that,” the one called Mynerva said, “Though isn’t he a lot older than her?”

A wanton _younger_ woman. Interesting. Had Ser Barristan found himself a girl to warm his bed after more than half a lifetime of celibacy? The Queen might be unhappy to have her Queensguard knight’s attention divided, especially if there were a child on the way. If it were true, this could be just the bit of information Cersei needed to blackmail him.

“Well, but he’s maybe a dozen years older than her; not so much, really,” the plump woman said, “My own Rathyr was fifteen years my senior, rest his soul, and we raised eight children together.”

A dozen years? If they were speaking of Barristan the woman would be too old to bear children. Who else was close to the queen that might be hiding a betrothal to a pregnant woman?

“You’re right, Silva, the age isn’t so much. But the other thing…”

“Oh, _that_!” Silva answered, waving her hand dismissively, “I wouldn’t kick a good-looking man like that out of my bed for it. And he obviously loves her, the whole kingdom knows it.”

“That’s true, dear, if the songs are to be believed…”

_Songs?_

“And anyway,” Silva said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, “if they can attach a gold hand to replace the one of flesh, imagine what else they could make to put on his stump!”

The three women began cackling merrily and talking all at once, gesturing with their hands to describe shapes and lengths in the air. Their words were lost in a roar of internal rage as Cersei realized who they’d been discussing all along.

_Jaime_. Jaime had got that big ugly bitch pregnant! No wonder he wanted it kept secret. Cersei drained her goblet of wine and poured another. She got unsteadily to her feet and made her way past the giggling women, carrying the flagon and her cup. She left the hall and went out into the heavily falling snow clutching the wine against her chest, her lips working in silent rage.

She entered the Maidenvault in a daze, soon finding herself back in her room with little memory of how she’d gotten there. She got onto her bed and finished her goblet of wine before pouring herself a third. 

Much later, when her maid came in to help ready her for sparring practice, Cersei was curled up asleep with the empty goblet still in her hand, the flagon on the side table with only dregs of sediment coating the bottom.

“M’lady! M’lady!” the maid said, shaking Cersei’s shoulder warily, ready to jump back in case the woman should come awake flailing. Cersei was unpleasant to rouse when she’d been drinking, which was most of the time. 

“What?” Cersei mumbled, releasing the goblet. The maid caught it before it could roll off the bed. 

“M’lady, I’ve come to get you ready for the field. It’s nearly dark! Here’s water, m’lady…” the girl said, extending a cup cautiously.

Cersei pushed herself into a sitting position against the headboard and opened her eyes just enough to see and grasp the water. She drank thirstily, swishing the last mouthful around in her mouth and spitting it back in the cup.

“It feels as though something crawled in my mouth and died,” she groaned, leaning her head back, “Bring me the rum.”

The girl set the wine goblet down and ran to get the small jar of rum Cersei kept on the dresser. When she gave it to her, the former queen took a mouthful and gargled it loudly before also spitting it into the cup.

“Better,” she said, and got off the bed to be stripped of her gown and re-dressed in trousers, gambeson and armor. Her head had stopped aching from her hangover. Being soundly drunk tended to do that. 

_Sparring should be interesting tonight_ , she thought blearily. She accepted her helm and sword from the maid and trudged out into the hall, clanking just a bit more than usual with her slight stagger. She was halfway to the sparring yard before she remembered what she’d heard in the dining hall.

Jaime was getting married. To Beastly Brienne, who was probably pregnant with his child. The inconceivable was apparently conceived after all. It would not do. Not at all.  

Cersei arrived in the yard to hoots from the other trainees. Ever since she’d dropped Ser Avery with that blow to the balls several days ago the men had begun to refer to her as “Ball Breaker,” even to her face. When she objected, Ser Barristan told her she should be glad, because nicknames among fighters were a form of camaraderie. 

_I have some ideas for other nicknames I’d like to earn_ , she thought sourly, seeing the old Lord Commander watching her cross the yard. _Late again, oh well_. 

She was just lucid enough to be glad of the alcohol making her feel warmer than usual.  It was full night and the snow had stopped, but a crust of ice had formed over nearly everything. It was actually very pretty, glittering in the light of the torches several trainees were holding. Cersei remembered now that tonight they would be working with fire for the first time. 

About an hour passed in which Cersei battled stationary wights, trying and failing to light the straw dummies afire as other recruits jeered and laughed at her whenever she swung sword or torch wildly and missed. Most of them had learned to be wary when paired up with her, but she was so obviously in her cups she seemed less a threat on this night. Every time her feet slid on the ice or she struck the ground with her weapons a loud “Huzzah!” rose from their throats.

By the time she noticed Jaime and Brienne riding in from King’s Landing the alcohol’s effects had burned from her blood and she was, regrettably, sober. She watched them dismount at the stables and take several items off their saddles before handing their horse’s reins over to a groom. The two were laughing as they juggled their gear, and Jaime leaned in and kissed the big wench full on the mouth, his lips lingering on hers as Cersei watched, unregarded, from the yard. 

Then the pair, walking so close together it was a wonder they didn’t trip over each other, were lost to sight as they passed through the portcullis leading to the middle bailey. Cersei whirled in a fury and attacked the straw wight with torch and sword, surprising everyone with her ferocity. She stood back and watched the dummy burn, resolve warming her as the snow began to fall again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little Cersei interlude. Bet you all thought Jenna would be the one to spill the beans! 
> 
> The next chapter will follow Jaime and Brienne's return to their chambers, where they will have a chance to resolve the sexual tension that's been building all day and further celebrate their betrothal. Set your alert for smut.
> 
> My apologies for the long delay in this chapter. I wrote two JB ficlets and began a new long fic with AlmostaBeauty called [**Bound Together**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1542590/chapters/3266705), a modern AU.
> 
> It would mean the world to me if you'd leave me comments! It's pathetic, but more comments really do mean faster updates. Even little tiny comments make me very happy. Although, TBH, I'm as anxious to write the next smutty bit of this story as you are to read it. 
> 
> Hope you're enjoying the show. Oathkeeper was perfectly lovely, and I re-watched parts of it over and over. I wrote my ficlet [**Against the Wall**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1518515) before that episode aired, and was gratified to see Bronn and Jaime in the same location at the same time of day I wrote for Jaime and Brienne. It was like I planned it!


	31. A Time to Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> "Do you not recall what the Brotherhood called me, Jaime? 'Kingslayer’s whore'.”
> 
> “But they were all dead or far away, why should you care what they called you? You have been called worse, even by me, maybe especially by me, and not allowed it to affect you.”
> 
> Brienne rested her head on her outstretched arm, considering him. “You know why they called me that; I called for you when I was in my delirium, over and over,”
> 
> “As you did on the Quiet Isle. You needed my help. It didn’t make you my whore.”
> 
> “I didn’t just call for you, Jaime. Before…before Rorge, and Biter, before Stoneheart, I dreamed of you."
> 
> _Returning from a long day, all Jaime and Brienne want is some time alone with each other. A time to think about the past and prepare for the future. Which is another way of saying, yes, there is romance and sex aplenty in this chapter._

While handing Sean and Fluffy’s reins over to the groom, Jaime noticed there was a training session going on in the yard. The wavering light of burning torches held by armored fighters revealed their presence in the darkness and falling snow. Fitfull flames illuminated arms, faces, and the quicksilver reflection of swords as the torches were swung at imaginary foes. Streaming lines of light lingered on the frosty air, fading back into individual flames as inexperienced fighters paused, letting down their guard while awaiting their next instruction.

Jaime knew what they were practicing. This was supposed to mimic the deadly dance they fought in the north, where lives depended on the ability to strike or defend with swords and destroy with fire. This looked like child’s play compared to what it was like to face the Others in the night. 

Missing were the screams of fighting men and women, the horrifying screeches and growls from the ruined throats of the wights, the crackling of burning flesh, and the indescribable malevolence of the White Walkers’ ice blue eyes seeming to burn into your soul.

Had Ser Barristan told the recruits about the bowel-loosening horror of the first time one of them looked into your eyes? Warned them that no matter how prepared you were with sword and torch, terror could kill you by making you hesitate for mere seconds? 

Laughter rang out in the yard, along with cheers of encouragement.  _Enjoy it now_ , Jaime thought sadly,  _for merriment will desert you in the long night_.

“Jaime?” Brienne said, laying her hand on his arm.

He turned and saw the haunted look in her eyes that reflecting his.

“It won’t be so bad, you know,” Brienne told him, “They’ll have Cersei to freeze the balls off the Others with a single look.”

“You’re assuming they  _have_  balls to freeze. Or set fire to…” Jaime smiled.

“Maybe someday we'll capture one and find out,” Brienne said lightly, “Then we’ll send Cersei in to check its breeches.”

“You are a resentful wench, aren’t you?” Jaime said, his sudden laughter infecting Brienne until she, too, was chuckling.

“I’ve never denied it. Shall we leave them to play White Walker tag out here in the dark? I’d like to go back to our room now.”

Jaime leaned in to kiss her until they were breathless. 

“I like that idea,” he said, not moving away from her mouth, “Very much.”

Brienne’s eyes were closed and she sighed softly. Jaime doubted she realized how sensuous that little exhale was, how it affected him when she didn’t try to hide how much she wanted him.

They continued on to the armory, arms laden with weapons and gear, walking close together as they could, bumping against one another like kids.

They put their gear away neatly, all except Brienne’s new dagger, which she proudly kept on her belt. Jaime noticed her hand straying to the hilt, her long fingers brushing the golden lion and tracing the crescent moons of Tarth curving over the blade. It had turned out more beautifully than he’d hoped, and Brienne’s obvious pleasure in it made him wish he had another dozen such to give her.

Over the years they’d exchanged many small gifts, many of them surprisingly personal. The leather vambrace she’d commissioned to keep his stump warm and protected was well-loved and oft-worn, the original red faded with use.  A scarf made from the softest angora wool and dyed blue to match her eyes was seldom far from Brienne’s skin; she even wore it under her armor at times.

The first gift Jaime had given to Brienne had been unmatched for value and rarity. Oathkeeper had saved both their lives more than once, though giving it to her had nearly cost hers early on. That reminded him: he had a special quest of his own tonight, and this time he would not be distracted from it.

The armory was close to the serpentine steps and they were soon ascending them hand in hand, two steps at a time. Their cloaks mingled in the wind as they crossed the bridge that took them past the mounted heads, barely visible beyond the flames from the mounted torches.

Once inside Maegor’s Holdfast their long strides took them through the halls quickly. They’d just turned the last corner into their corridor when they nearly collided with Tyrion, who leapt to the side with surprising agility.

“I’ve seen charging destriers that were less dangerous than the two of you,” he gasped, patting his hands up and down himself as though checking for injury.

“Oh come now, didn’t the sound of our mighty hooves warn you?” Jaime said unsympathetically.

Brienne snorted with laughter, “Next time we’ll just whinny as we trot down the hall, shall we?”

“You two are so droll,” Tyrion muttered, craning to look up at them. “Gods, your children will be monsters.”

Jaime laughed, though he hoped Brienne wouldn’t find his brother’s jape offensive. Tyrion had been called a monster all his life; suggesting extra height was monstrous was the kind of irony he enjoyed.

“Were you looking for us, or just roaming the halls like a lost child?”

“I was hoping to speak to you about the dragons. Shall we talk in your chambers?”

Jaime looked at Brienne, who blushed. He knew why: she wanted him alone, and soon. He might have laughed at how merely being caught thinking about sex made her blush, but knowing how much she wanted him was making him flushed as well.

“Can it wait, Tyrion? We’ve had a long day, and my woman is ready for her bed,”

Brienne dug her short fingernails into his palm as hard as she could. Tyrion didn’t miss his innuendo any more than she did.

“Yes, I’m sure you are both  _tired_. Well, we can talk more in the morning. The Queen has acquiesced to your requests for the most part. She's expecting you to begin training Viserion tomorrow,” he said to Brienne, who nodded. “I’ll send word so we can break our fast together.”

“Thank you, Tyrion,” Brienne said, “Has the Queen agreed to give me Lavakhat and Hemikh as assistants?”

“Yes. She says you may have as many Dothraki as you need. Unsullied, too. “

“They’ve been told?”

“Lavakhat and Hemikh? Yes; they’re to go out early tomorrow so that Ashefa can familiarize them with the dragons and how to feed and control them. Well, as much as anyone can control them.”

“Thanks, Tyrion,” Jaime said, raising his eyebrows at him:  _are we done yet?_

“Sleep well, you two.” Tyrion said with a smirk and turned to walk back the way he’d come.

When he was out of sight Jaime turned to Brienne and took his hand from hers. He pulled her to him and began kissing her from neck to jaw. Rather than stiffening in surprise she leaned into him, sighing.

“I need to take you to bed, Wench,” he breathed in her ear.

“And I, you,” she answered.

Jaime stepped back, looking into her eyes, the desire and love he saw in them sending the sweetest ache through his chest.

“Doesn’t have to be bed, though,” he grinned, backing her against the wall, “I’d take you right here if I could.”

“Mmm, you could,” Brienne said, moving one leg between his, “but it might be a little complicated with both of us in breeches. I think I’ve just thought of the  _only_  advantage to wearing a dress.”

“You mean if you were wearing a dress you’d let me fuck you right here?”

The stone wall was at her back as he pressed against her, the feel of her strong thigh between his legs making him reckless. He put his lips to her neck again, layering it with small biting kisses.

“If I were wearing a dress I might fuck  _you_  right here, Jaime. But I’m not, so before either of us loses the ability to walk…”

“I want you, Brienne,” Jaime said hoarsely, “I’ve wanted you for so long, and I'll never stop wanting you, now I’ve got you.”

“ _Jaime_ …Jaime, I want you, too. I  _need_  you. But right now I need you to stop making me wanton in this hall. We’re going to our chambers –  _now_.”

He chuckled against her neck and stepped back, taking her hand to tug her toward their door. When they crossed the threshold of their rooms both were laughing breathlessly. Jaime shut and locked the door and playfully pressed Brienne against it.

“All right, we’re inside, away from curious eyes,” he said, grinning as he slid the jerkin off her shoulders.

Brienne helped by shrugging the garment off, then began taking off the sword belt she’d buckled around Jaime’s hips that morning. She took her time with the familiar ritual, brushing her hands over his erection as she gathered the belt and sword to set them aside. Jaime’s eyes were closed, his head back. 

Brienne kissed the apple of his throat as she moved closer to lift his tunic. He let her pull it over his head, and then reached for her belt as well. She helped him remove it and he ran his arms and hand along her back as he lifted her tunic off; she felt so strong and alive where he touched her warm skin.

Once her tunic was cast aside, Jaime lowered his head to her breast to take one plump nipple into his mouth and she arched against him. Tentatively, he caressed between her legs with his stump. Brienne groaned and held it against her, seeking greater pressure from his maimed arm. Her acceptance and love of all of him was overwhelming and bowed his head, pressing his lips to her heart.

Brienne threaded her hands into his hair and tugged until he looked up at her. She was flushed and breathless as she pulled his tunic over his head. She'd barely time to cast it aside before he was leaning in to kiss her again.

“Bed,” she said urgently and he smiled against her lips.

“I thought you wanted me to take you against the door?”

“We have a lifetime ahead of having to fuck in awkward positions. Right now I’d like the novelty of a soft mattress.”

Jaime looked her up and down, “ _I_  could make it good, Wench.”

“I’m sure you could.  _Another time_.” She took his arm and led him to the inner chamber.

Candles burned on the bedside tables and the room was tidy. Agnes had obviously been in to make things comfortable for them.

They quickly shed boots and breeches and fell onto the bed together. Lying side by side they moved against each other, legs sliding against hips, lips on skin, soft hair against hard muscle, wrapping around one another in slow exploration at odds with the rapid beating of their hearts.

Soon it was no longer enough for Brienne, and she rolled them until Jamie was on his back with her looking down at him triumphantly.  She reached down to rub his cock where it throbbed beneath her belly. Jaime shuddered and raised his hips as she squeezed his hard length and teased the tip with her thumb. He raised his head and tried to capture her lips in a frantic kiss, the pressure of her hands and body making him incoherent with need.

When Brienne planted her knees on either side of his hips and rose, breaking contract, Jaime groaned and tried to pull her back. He’d not long to suffer as she quickly settled down, straddling him. The wet heat between her legs was seductively close, so close that if she shifted forward only a little he could be inside with a single thrust. His only awareness was in the yearning to be one with her; an ache of need flaring from his core, his intentions of bringing her to climax before entering her forgotten. 

He looked up at his beloved from half-closed eyes; her hair was curtaining her face and partly veiling her eyes. Jaime could still see the spark in them, the familiar joy and burn of battle he knew and loved. She leaned forward and he reached out to sweep the hair from her face. As his fingers brushed against her cheek she guided his cock to her entrance, lowering herself over him, slowly taking him inside. 

Brienne drew in a shaky breath, then another as she adjusted to the feel of him in this new position. She leaned forward, bracing herself on her hands beside him, and pulled her body up and away from his cock. Jaime wanted to thrust back inside, demand she stay. He watched her concentrating on the sensation of him sliding out of her and then she stilled above him, only the head of his cock still inside her. Their eyes met, and Brienne suddenly grinned, an expression he knew well from sparring. Her tell that she was about to do  _something_ … 

She sat back down on his cock so hard it jolted them when it rammed into her awkwardly, and they both grunted. A grimace flashed across Brienne’s face, but she recovered in seconds and began to move on him more gently, and he began thrusting into her. They soon found their rhythm and began moving together strongly.

“Oh, Wench,” Jaime groaned.

He raised his hand to lightly pinch one of her nipples. She gasped when he lightly twisted and pulled it. He stopped and looked at the small bud, swollen hard and flushed. He wanted to suck it into his mouth and make her writhe; he wanted to roll the other in his fingers until both were aching with the need for his mouth and tongue.

“Wench, I have an idea,”

“ _Now_?” Brienne panted.

“Let’s go do this on one of the chairs.”

“A chair?” she said doubtfully, ceasing to move on him.

“Trust me,” 

She got off of him, the air hitting his wet cock unpleasantly.  _Probably for the best_ , he thought; he was so close…

He led her to the parlor and found an armless chair. Briefly regretting the embroidery he’d soon have embossed on his ass, he sat down, his cock jutting up, rigid and ready for her. Uncertainty in her eyes, she lowered herself onto Jaime’s lap. As his cock filled her and they began moving together, doubt gave way to elation.

Jaime leaned forward and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it as he toyed with the other, rolling it between his finger and thumb. Brienne wrapped her hands in his hair, holding him to her. She began to moan, little gasps wrung from her as her excitement built, driving Jaime to the limits of his control.

He lowered his hand so he could rub her clit with this thumb and curl his fingers along her folds. She was panting _my love, my love_ , overwhelmed by his touch. Her rhythm became erratic as she bucked against him, calling his name over and over until her legs and hips began to shake, her core contracting around his cock in waves, sweeping him up in her climax until they both cried out, breaking apart and coming together as one.

After, slick with sweat and breathing hard, they clung to each other for long moments before Jaime huffed out a small laugh against Brienne’s throat.

“My Wench,” he said.

Brienne hummed into his neck, accepting the praise, astonishment, and _satisfaction_  conveyed in those two words.

She straightened to smile down at him, “I’d heard nothing was better than fighting but sex, but now I truly believe it.”

“Are you telling me our other times  _weren’t_  better than fighting?”

“Not at all, but they didn’t remind me as much of fighting.  _This_...I shall never be able to spar with you in front of people again without blushing.”

“You already do that, Wench.”

“Oh. Well, no one will guess what I’m thinking about if I  _usually_  blush then.”

Jaime chuckled, “Why is it, do you think, that everyone’s believed I’ve been bedding you all along?”

Brienne’s eyes widened at the implication, indignant at first, then resigned, “I knew I should have seduced you years ago. After all, if no one thought I had any virtue to protect -”

“If it had been that easy,” Jaime said, making to rise, “But nothing was ever that simple. Still, you probably could have convinced me.” 

They stood up, and Jaime took her hand, leading her into the bedroom, “I certainly yielded readily enough tonight.”

He led her to the bath alcove and got them each a small towel to wipe off with. His thighs were sticky with sweat and seed and hers would be as well.

“I can call for a bath, if you like.” He said.

“In the morning. For now the privy will do fine, if you wouldn’t mind giving me some privacy.”

Jaime left her to go behind the curtain, smiling at her modesty.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so exposed and vulnerable as when she’d mounted him earlier, stealing from him his every rational thought.

Vulnerable…the word caught at him as he sat on the edge of the bed. They were safe together, in trust and love. But physically, tough and competent as they were, the fragility of skin and bones would always worry him, especially with the dragon training looming. 

Jaime still needed to find the scar on Brienne’s inner thigh, where the wound she’d taken in the battle with Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners had nearly cost her life.

Brienne walked to the basin on the dressing table and washed her hands. He watched her, unabashedly admiring her bottom as she bent to splash water on her face. She looked up and caught him watching in the mirror and shifted her hips a little to see his reaction. She laughed when he tilted his head like a curious dog before meeting her eyes in the mirror.

“Unless you’re ready for another bout, Ser, I think it’s time we were abed.” She said, coming to stand between his thighs where he sat on the bed.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed his head against her, a lion with his lioness.

“I think I could probably manage another if you can, my Lady, though I was ridden hard and stabled wet.”

“Yes, a rub down with a twist of hay is just what you need after that. Here, let me go so I can lay down with you. My bones have turned to mush and I can barely stand.”

Jaime used his grip on her waist to pull her onto the bed on top of him.

“Oof, isn’t this how all this started?” he said, kissing her shoulder. His cock stirred between them, mostly spent, but valiantly trying to rise to the temptation. Brienne rolled off of him, but hooked a leg over his hip as he turned to her.

“Brienne, I know it seems odd, but I’d like to see the scar on your leg from when we fought the Brotherhood.”

She looked at him curiously, “It is long since healed, Jaime. You saw to that, much to my dismay.”

“Dismay? I was trying to take care of you, Wench, until you refused to allow it. But you always were stubborn and independent, even when it endangered your life.”

“My life wasn’t in danger by then, and I had endured enough mortification from your care. Did it not occur to you that a maid wouldn’t want a man cleaning and dressing a wound that required him to touch her so close to her smallclothes?”  

Jaime remembered how she’d flinched away from him when he’d ministered to the healing cut. At the time he’d thought it pained her still, but he also recalled her shyness as his fingers touched her tender inner thigh, the tears standing in her eyes as she’d looked away from him. He’d known by then that he loved her, but had yet to see any hint she felt the same. She was his to protect and it was his fault for sending her into such danger that she’d been so gravely injured.

“I was careful not to touch you inappropriately, Wench. The Silent Brothers tended your wound and I never saw you flinch away from them.”

“Do you not recall what the Brotherhood called me, Jaime?  _'Kingslayer’s whore_.’"

“But they were all dead or escaped, why should you care what they called you? You have been called worse, even by me, maybe _especially_ by me, and not allowed it to affect you.”

Brienne rested her head on her outstretched arm, considering him. “You know why they called me that; I called for you when I was in my delirium, over and over,”

“As you did on the Quiet Isle. You needed my help. It didn’t make you my whore.”

“I didn’t just call for you, Jaime. Before…before Rorge, and Biter, before Stoneheart, I dreamed of you. I dreamed of you when I lay down to sleep, I thought of you when I was awake, and though I tried to keep the yearning at bay, I had already fallen. I was desperate  _not_  to be in love with you, Jaime.” She paused, her face sad with the memory, “And there you were, the man I was trying not to love, Ser Jaime Lannister, with his hands upon me, so gentle and intimate there between my legs, not even a harsh word on your lips to enable me to fight you, to go back to the comfort of disliking you.”

“You didn’t want me to take care of you  _because_  you’d come to care for me?” Jaime asked, thinking back to how she’d avoided looking at him, had drawn so far away from him that he’d thought she would never forgive him for all that happened after he’d sent her from King’s Landing. She’d been in love, then…

“I never told you what else they said: ‘there’s a stink of lion about you, lady.’”

“They were prophets then, my love, for I have certainly marked you out as mine since.”

At last she smiled, “I fear your scent is heavy upon me now, my Lord, but I no longer mind.”

“You are soon to be a lioness, and you have made me yours as well,” Jaime said, getting up on his knees, “Will you let me find the scar, then? Without flinching?”

“I’ll try, love.”

“Go lay your head upon the pillow, and I will look,” Jaime said, a strange mood upon him. His memory of those early days after Stoneheart was shifting with the new knowledge of Brienne’s feelings for him. All that time, from before the first time he’d held her in sleep on their quest for Sansa, they’d both been in love. Would their love have endured had they known and acted on it then?

Brienne moved up the bed and lay back with her head on the Stark Swan pillow, her hands clasped over her belly.

“We were meant to be,” Jaime said, almost to himself, “But we lost so much time.”

“We were together,” Brienne sighed, “It was enough for me.”

“Was it?” Jaime asked, unsmiling.

“No, not really. But this is.”

Jaime did smile then, his teeth glinting behind his short beard. He ran his hand and stump over her thighs before nudging them apart, urging her to extend her right leg to the side until he could run his fingers along her inner thigh, seeking the scar tissue.

When he found it, the puckered bit of skin was smaller than he’d thought it would be, paler even than the skin around it, and higher on her leg than he remembered. No wonder she’d been shy about it. He brushed his fingertips over it, memorizing the shape.

He looked at Brienne’s face to see her reaction, but her eyes were closed. The way she was breathing told him she wasn’t asleep. Jaime bent over and kissed the raised bit of skin that had sealed the wound.

Brienne let out a startled breath: definitely not asleep. Experimentally, he traced his fingers up to the wavy hair between her legs and stroked it softly. She tensed and then relaxed, welcoming his touch. The warm smell of her arousal came to him, and he lowered his mouth to her, pressing his tongue to her nub.

“ _Jaime_ ,” she said, drawing out his name in a low groan. Permission or plea, it mattered not. When they coupled for the second time that night, it was slow and sensual, dance more than battle, making love more than fucking.

It was very late when they finally fell asleep holding each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I treasure your comments, and generally respond to them just after I've posted a new chapter. They keep me motivated, they help me decide when I'm trying to decide "catboxes or a new chapter of Taking the Silver?" Your hits, your kudos, your kind words and encouragement, recommending this fic to others, following me on tumblr, these are all things I can't properly express my gratitude for, but I'll try: Here, have some mashed potatoes and gravy, and don't worry about the calories.
> 
> Next chapter: breakfast with Tyrion and beginning dragon training!


	32. Stormy Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime turned to her angrily, “I don’t want you working with the beast as it is, Brienne. Do you think I’d let you do it without me there to keep you safe?”
> 
> “Let me? Since when can I not take care of myself? You can’t protect me from everything, Jaime.”
> 
> He glared at her, “Is that what you want, Wench? You want me to go away so you can risk yourself without me hindering you?”
> 
>  
> 
> _It's the first day or dragon training, but first Jaime and Brienne need to meet Tyrion in the dining hall, and he has some news of his own._

Brienne awoke to the smells of moon tea and lavender steam. She’d slept through the servants bringing in the bath water, and Jaime was reclining beside her on top of the covers, wearing a pair of loosely tied breeches. Waking up next to Jaime had been part of her life for a long time now. Whether he was still sleeping so she could steal a few rare moments reveling in the warm, sleepy smell of him or awake and watching her, his presence always made her feel at least _something_ was right in the world.

Reaching up to run her fingers along his jaw, she smiled when he ducked his head to rub his cheek in her palm before leaning in to kiss her. How many almost-kisses had there been before _this_ , Brienne wondered, when one or the other drowsily stopped just short of that sweet press of lips, nearly forgetting a kiss was a morning greeting reserved for lovers? How many times, unable to seal the wish to _sleep well,_ had they lain awake, yearning for what could not be? They’d been working up to this for so long; a cuddle, a look, the unacknowledged brush of lips against nape or shoulder. It was no wonder they’d easily fallen into this intimacy, though it was still thrillingly new.

Jamie leaned back, still smiling, “I’m glad you were able to sleep through the noise the servants made, Wench. You must have needed the rest.”

“I did, though I’d have though you would as well.”

“Tyrion sent a message earlier, else I’d still be snoring beside you.”

Brienne groaned; she’d forgotten they were meeting Tyrion in the dining hall. 

“We have time for a bath before though, since you had one prepared?”

“Maybe not as leisurely as we’d like, but yes. I must smell like a stoat after sparring yesterday. I’m surprised you could bear to have me in your bed.”

“Mm, you might smell a bit more like a rutting stoat this time,” Brienne said, wrinkling her nose, “but then, so do I. A fine pair of stinky stoats.”

“I think ‘rutting lions’ would be more appropriate. We can make it our house sigil when we marry; the Rutting Lions Rampant” He leaned in to kiss her again, twitching away the covers and moving on top of her, “I must say, I do like the stink of lion about you, my lady.”

Brienne wrapped her legs around his hips, the fabric of his breeches rough between her thighs, “I rather doubt anyone else will be enamored of it, should we run out of time to bathe.”

“A shame…” Jaime said vaguely, trailing kisses along her chest, stomach and legs as he backed away from her down the mattress. By the time he reached her foot he was off the end of the bed and standing on the floor. Wrapping his fingers around her ankle he tugged, walking backwards until Brienne had to stand too or fall on her bottom. 

He released her foot and she pushed him away and headed for the privy, shaking her head at him. When she came out Jaime was already in the copper tub, his wet hair spread over the cresting wave of the backrest. Would seeing him thus, in water and steam, always bring Harrenhal to mind? As then, the sight of him stirred her, though it was more than simple lust she was feeling. 

Jaime cracked open an eye, “Brienne? You are coming in, aren’t you? I put your moon tea here on the table.”

Brienne nodded and got in the tub with him, the water rising to their shoulders. She sighed and picked up her mug of tea, leaning back and cupping it in her hands, “Thank you, Jaime. We really shouldn’t get used to this. It’ll be a rude shock to sleep outdoors and be filthy all the time again.” She drained her tea and set down her cup to pick up a ball of soap, “Would you like me to wash your back?”

Jaime answered by turning around to face away from her, settling between her long legs. Working up a good lather in her hands before covering his back in suds, Brienne kneaded his muscles, digging her thumbs in and massaging as he groaned in appreciation. She caressed her fingers over his strong biceps and down his solid forearms, threading her soapy fingers through his on the one side, swirling them over his stump on the other. 

She put her arms beneath his, soaping his chest and belly while she closed her eyes and leaned her head against his wet back, savoring the sturdy feel of him as she explored. She soaped his armpits and cupped water to sluice the soap off before continuing down to his thighs, washing them under the water. She ran her hands back from Jaime’s knees and along the insides of his thighs, mapping scars and muscle with her sensitive fingertips. At the juncture of his legs she stroked his balls with soapy hands, enjoying the low sounds of pleasure vibrating from his back beneath her cheek.

Brienne reached for the soap again, coating her hands well before dipping them under the water to make the length of Jaime’s cock slick, and then tracing the veins and ridges, smoothing her fingers up and down his hard shaft slowly. 

Jaime put his hand on her wrist to still her motion, “I think we’d better get you washed up now, Wench.”

Brienne couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice, “Was I doing it wrong?”

“No; that’s the problem. You’re about to defeat the purpose of our being in here.”

“Oh,” Brienne said, feeling foolish, “I hadn’t considered that. How about I just wash your hair now.” 

Jaime kept his eyes closed, grimacing, while she scooped water over his head and then scrubbed the previous day’s grime and sweat from his hair and beard. He slid down to rinse, his hair streaming out into the water and tickling Brienne’s belly and thighs.

“I think that’s as clean as you’re going to get,” Brienne told him, charmed by the grin he gave her through his dripping hair when he sat up and turned to face her.

Jaime picked the soap up from its dish and held it out to Brienne. She took it, rolling it between her palms. She was about to spread suds on herself when Jaime held out his hand, looking at her sternly. She held out her hands and he took the lather and spread it evenly over her chest and arms.

Hooking his right arm over her knee, he used his left hand to caress her all over, leaving no skin untouched. Brienne was surprised at the lump forming in her throat at his tender exploration. He wasn’t trying to arouse her; he was simply washing her, becoming more familiar with her body. 

Brienne had little memory of being lovingly touched before she knew Jaime. During their time as captives, when both had suffered beatings from the Bloody Mummers, the sympathetic weight of his remaining hand on hers had been an unexpected comfort. She had few memories of being touched in simple kindness since her mother’s death. Growing up tall and awkward under the care of a disapproving septa, she’d become a woman convinced she wasn’t made for the affection of human touch. 

Instead, she’d satisfied her need for connection with the animals she surrounded herself with. Cats, dogs, horses, none could resist her soft words and loving hands, nor could any other animal she encountered on her island home. All of her need for touch poured into them. 

When she’d been expected to care for Jaime after his maiming, her touch seemed to soothe him during his illness and despair. Tending and touching him had been necessary and natural, just as caring for a sick animal would have been. 

Yet when she’d held and helped him after his confession in the baths of Harrenhal, he’d become so much more to her than a wounded beast. Washing and helping him dress with more affection that any nursemaid had ever shown her had awoken something in her. It made her want something she never expected to have.

Much later, traveling together after the Quiet Isle, Jaime had unsettled her deeply. Not just his careful tending of her wound, but from the first time he’d held her to him in sleep, her world had changed. As she watched him now, his gaze following the path of his hand across her skin, the realization of his love was overwhelming. 

Feeling the catch in her breath through his fingers, Jaime looked up at her quickly. Her small smile must have been at odds with the sheen of her unshed tears, but he only gave her a questioning look. 

“I…I was only thinking about how much love you.” She shrugged, “all of this, us, it’s….”

“Are you happy?” he asked, his face serious.

_Happy_? Finally admitting to their feelings, the betrothal, making love; her most secret dreams coming true. Had she given herself a chance to just be happy about it? 

“Yes, Jaime, I am.”

“Good. Now make me happy and get your hair wet for me. I can’t do it with only one hand.”

The ordinariness of his tone reassured her; the newness of their intimacy didn’t change who they were, not did it weaken the connection they’d shared for so long.

Her heart was light as she slid down in the tub and immersed her long hair in the cooling water. It took three hands to wash her hair, but soon they were done and out of the tub, wrapping each other in soft, dry towels. 

Dragon training would begin in earnest today. Brienne chose her clothing with care, deciding on a pair of leather breeches that years of wear had shaped to fit perfectly. Brienne pulled the close-fitting leather up and tied the laces while Jaime sat on the bed idly watching her. 

“Why aren’t you getting dressed?” she said, retrieving a short tunic from the chest. She turned to look at Jaime, who gave her an insolent smile but said nothing. She pulled the tunic over her head and tugged it down over her hips. Snug and broken in like the leggings, it provided just enough give for her to maneuver easily. She wore this combination often, but always underneath a gambeson for fighting. 

The scales on Viserion’s face were soft-edged, but those on his body might be rough or barbed like a lizard’s. Until she knew for sure, these leathers would let Brienne to get close to him in his pen without risk of snagging or tearing. 

Picking up the long red belt she kept her dagger on, she secured it around her waist and looped it to the left side. 

“Is that all you’re wearing?” Jaime asked. 

Brienne looked at him from the corner of her eye, wondering at his tone. He was sitting naked on the edge of the bed, the towel across his lap. 

“Is that all _you’re_ wearing?” she retorted, turning to him. She picked up a brush and began working through the damp tangles of her hair. 

“No. I’ll get dressed soon,” he said, “I’ve just never seen you wear that tunic and breeches without putting something over them. They’re rather revealing, don’t you think?” 

Brienne looked in the mirror, seeing nothing amiss with her clothes. The neckline of her tunic was a modest V; the leather was an unassuming nut-brown color. Daenerys and her Dothraki cohorts often wore much less. 

Jaime stood up, letting the towel slide from his lap, and walked to stand just behind her. Meeting her eyes in the mirror he ran his hand along her hip, “This shows rather a lot of your shape.” 

Brienne’s face heated, “I’m sure the _dragon_ won’t mind how I look, Jaime. Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, now that people know we’re together?” 

“Embarrassed? _Why_ …oh. Brienne, look at me. Do you think I _dislike_ what you’re wearing?” She looked at his face in the mirror; his mocking smile giving her no answers, “Look _down_ , sweetling.” 

“ _Oh_. I still don’t think…” 

Jaime raised his hand to cup her breast, drawing her attention to it in the mirror; the soft leather clung to her nipples. He swept his thumb over one and it became noticeably harder, “All I’ve ever been able to think about when you wear these is fucking you. Your legs, your arse, your tits, everything that’s driven me mad for so long, right here in plain view, nothing hidden. I don’t want other men looking at you the way I do. I’m a possessive lout, all right?” 

Torn between being indignant and flattered, Brienne turned to face him, “If you have a say in how I dress, am I allowed to say when you’re too enticing to be seen by others? I’ve endured women _and_ men throwing themselves at you for years, Jaime. Now that you’re mine shall I tell you that your smile makes me weak with want? Just watching you _walk_ is enough to befuddle me. Can I ask you not to smile at anyone else, or to find a way to move without the swagger?” 

“Really? That’s how you felt?” 

“Is that all you heard? How handsome you are?” 

“Sorry. Am I being unreasonable?” 

“You’ve managed to make me self-conscious, so I’ll put on a jerkin until we get to the dragon pit. Not for your sake, though.” 

“No. I’m sorry. Wear what you like. Just don’t be surprised if I keep you closer than usual.” 

“Get some clothes on. If you think me being fully dressed will make men lose control, just imagine if you went out with your naked cock looking like that. I know at least a couple of men who would bruise their knees dropping down in front of you.” 

“Seven hells, Brienne!” Jaime laughed, “I’ll get dressed, if only to stop you from talking like that.” 

“So the only one you want dropping to their knees in front of you is me?” 

“Stop.” 

“Not me, either?” 

“Brienne…” 

“Yes, Jaime?” 

Jaime sighed and began looking for something to wear, “You’re a rotten wench. For some reason I love you anyway.” 

Unable to hide her pleased smile, Brienne pulled on her boots and secured her sword belt around her hips. Not for a moment did she imagine other men looking upon her with the sort of desire Jaime implied, but she was glad to know he felt that way himself. 

Jaime dressed quickly and soon they were on their way to the dining hall, leaving the Holdfast and crossing the bridge against a fierce wind that coated the faces of the spiked heads and made them wobble obscenely. 

“Lovely day for dragon training,” Jaime remarked as they hurried down the steps, pulling their hoods close to keep the snow from their still-damp hair. 

“Maybe the pit will offer some protection from the storm,” 

“At least we can warm up in the house if we need to.” 

“Are you getting too spoilt for the harshness of winter, Jaime? Will I need to coddle you as well as Sean and Fluffy when we go back?” 

“The horses have more sense than we do, I think.” 

“Gods, you don’t think the dragons are craven about snow and ice? Have they flown since winter came?” 

“Hit would be ironic if they refused to fly because it’s too cold.” 

They entered the larger hall and then the dining hall. It was crowded with people avoiding the storm. They saw Tyrion several tables away from the queen’s. He’d saved them places on the bench opposite him and they pushed their way through the crowd. 

Tyrion looked up blearily. When he saw Brienne he smiled at her, but it looked wrong. _Was he leering_? 

“Shit,” Jaime muttered under his breath. 

Tyrion’s gaze traveled over her, lingering on her legs for much too long. Brienne looked around cautiously and saw she’d drawn the attention of several other men in the hall as well. She drew her cloak closed, feeling as though lice were crawling over her skin. 

She turned her head to look at Jaime, expecting him to look smug, but his jaw was angrily clenched and his eyes narrow. 

“I’m sorry, Brienne. Try not to let it bother you; I’m bothered enough for us both.” He held her hand tighter. 

When they’d got to the table Tyrion was still staring at Brienne and she saw the skin around his eyes was flushed from drink or emotion. 

“Future good sister,” he greeted her, “You’re quite a lovely sight this morning. Brother, I must congratulate you; her legs are even finer than I imagined. Why I could climb -” 

“Tyrion,” Jaime growled, “I’ll not put up with unchivalrous talk from you about my lady.” 

“Calm down, Jaime, it was a compliment. Lady Brienne isn’t insulted. Right, sweetling?” 

Brienne looked at Jaime for guidance: _should I kill him now_? 

“You know better than this, Tyrion,” Jaime said, swinging a let over the bench to sit, “You asked us here to talk to us about the dragons. So talk.” 

“Dragons. The fucking dragons.” Tyrion drawled, draining his goblet, “ _Do_ dragon’s fuck? They must. I’d like to see that; probably make even me feel inadequate. Brie, did Jaime ever mention my large-” 

“ _Tyrion_. What did the _Queen_ say about the dragons?” 

“The Queen. Dany. _She_ knows about my… _oops_ ,” Tyrion made a sound that Brienne belatedly realized was a giggle. “The queen says do whatever you need to train Viserion. She wants you to write her a report every day. You can send someone with it, one of the Dothrakis probably. You’re planning on staying in the house there? I should warn you: she might check up on you, unannounced. Always lock the door to the bedroom when you fuck. Her time with the Dothraki has left her with strange ideas about what’s private and what isn’t.” 

Tyrion glared at them for a moment and then let his head drop to the table with a _thunk,_ followed by a muffled _ouch_. Jaime reached out and grabbed a handful of his hair, lifting his head slightly. 

“What’s wrong with you, Tyrion? I haven’t seen you like this since your trial.” 

“Tysha,” Tyrion mumbled and batted Jaime’s hand away from his hair. 

“ _Tysha_?” 

“Did I fucking stutter, Jaime? Tyshhhha.” 

“No; you slurred. What about Tysha?” 

Brienne looked between the two brothers, confused. The name was familiar. 

“You recall our dear father said she went ‘wherever whores go?’” 

Oh. That Tysha. 

“Yes?” Jaime said, wariness in his voice. Brienne recalled Jaime telling her about his brother’s wife and the lies he’d once told Tyrion. Not for the first time she hoped Tywin was burning in one of the seven hells for all the harms he’d done his children. 

“I got a letter. Apparently she didn’t go far.” 

“A letter about Tysha? From someone selling information?” 

“No, a letter _from_ Tysha.” 

“Can you be sure it’s from her? Was it a demand for money? Anyone who knows how high up you are now -” 

“ _Don’t_. The letter contained personal information; things only Tysha would know. She wants to see me, Jaime.” Tears overflowed Tyrion’s eyes, misery and shame and terrible hope. 

“Where is she?” 

“Living in a small village near Sarsfield.” 

“That close to Casterly Rock? Has she been there all this time?” 

“I don’t know, Jaime. There wasn’t much in the letter. She just wants to see me.” 

“Will you go?” 

Tyrion looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second hand, “What do you think? Of course I’ll go. I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there. Will she hate me, brother?” 

“Probably.”

“How could she not?” Tyrion sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, “When will you go?”

“Today. Daenerys is sending half a dozen men to ride with me. She’s been very…understanding.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t she be? Does she know about your first wife?”

“She knows I was married before Sansa. I think she assumed my first wife was dead. Hell, Jaime, _I_ thought she was dead, after all this time.”

“I should go with you, for my part in what happened,” Jaime said, “but you know I can’t; I need to stay here with Brienne while she works with Viserion.”

“You should go,” Brienne said, “Tyrion needs you, and I can start working with the dragon on my own. Lavakhat and Hemikh will be there with me.”

Jaime turned to her angrily, “I don’t want you working with the beast as it is, Brienne. Do you think I’d let you do it without me there to keep you safe?”

“ _Let me_? Since when can I not take care of myself? If you’re that unhappy about me training Viserion maybe it _would_ be better if you went with Tyrion. You can’t protect me from everything, Jaime.”

He glared at her, “Is that what you want, Wench? You want me to go away so you can risk yourself without me hindering you?”

“I’m not ‘risking’ myself. I’ll be careful.  What can you do to protect me from a dragon that I can’t do myself?”

“You’ll ‘be careful,’” Jaime scoffed, “What if it decides to attack you? White Walkers are nothing to sharp teeth and claws and fire, Brienne! That creature could kill you before you had a half a chance to defend yourself.”

“That’s true, but it also means you couldn’t defend me in time, either.”

“ _Fuck_. You just want me to go with Tyrion, then? Sounds like you don’t need me at all.”

“Stop fighting, you too!” Tyrion huffed, “You’re both being ridiculous. Jaime, I don’t _want_ you to come with me. Lady Brienne, give my poor, vain, _smitten_ brother a chance to protect you if he can. Besides, the queen now says that Jaime has to help you with training the dragons.”

“Dragon. _One_ dragon,” Jaime said.

“I believe your requests included Rhaegar, if possible. Her words, I believe, were ‘this will keep the Kingslayer out of trouble and the Lady Brienne safe,’”

“Kingslayer,” Brienne scowled, “When is she going to stop -”

“If anyone has a right to call him ‘Kingslayer’ it would be the daughter of the king he slew,” Tyrion pointed out.

“See? Even the queen thinks I should be watching out for you.” 

“And what does she mean, _keep me safe_? Does no one believe I’m competent to do this on my own?”

“Speaking of the queen, or should I say ‘queens,’ your little tiff has drawn their attention,” Tyrion said

“ _Their_ attention?” Jaime said, turning on the bench. 

“Don’t look _now_ ,” Tyrion warned, “Queens, as in our sweet sister Cersei has been beside Dany all morning, and even Rufus looks concerned.” 

Brienne tried to look without being obvious. Cersei was indeed leaning close to the queen, whispering and looking in their direction. Maybe it was her imagination, but Rufus the dragon skull looked more nauseated than usual. Did dragons ever throw up scale-balls?

“Lady Brienne! Ser Jaime!” Jenna’s cheerful voice startled her and she turned back to see the servant bearing plates of food for them.

“I ordered for you,” Tyrion said, moving aside his empty wine goblet.

“No dragon talons today, I’m afraid,” Jenna said, placing a platter with eggs, bacon and boiled potatoes in front of Brienne, “seems several people were taken ill after eating ‘em yesterday. They’re busy scraping the remains off the dragon-egg grill. I hear they’ll be doing something with chicken feet next, which I do believe look more like talons than those itty bitty fishes, curled up or not.” She set plates in front of Tyrion and Jaime.

“Thank you, Jenna,” Tyrion said, managing a smile for her, “any new gossip from the kitchens this morning?”

“Well, it seems everyone wants to know why the new queen is dining with the old one, what with her being considered low-born and all now. Everyone knows the two ladies aren’t fond of each other.”

“Any guesses?” 

“One serving girl says she heard them talking about babies. You don’t suppose Queen Daenerys is with child, do you? What a scandal that would be, with her unwed and all! I’ve hear whispers she’s got a lover. Me, I’d be right surprised myself if there were only _one_ lover, bless her. In her prime and ruler of seven kingdoms, she can certainly do as she likes. You’re close to her, Lord Tyrion, what do you think?”

“I’ve no idea,” Tyrion said, stuffing a thick piece of bacon in his mouth.

“Well, it’d certainly liven things up around here if she’s with child! Just imagine the men coming from near and far trying to give her babe their name before it’s born.”

“Yes, just imagine,” Tyrion said drily.

“Oh, it’s all so exciting, what with the two of you betrothed and…oh dear, did I just give it away? Your brother does know doesn’t he, Ser Jaime?”

“I know,” Tyrion said, “How came you to know?”

“She overheard us yesterday,” Brienne said.

“But she’s not going to tell anyone else, right, my lady?” Jaime said, giving her a winning smile. 

_Well, that should ensure her silence_ , “Of course she won’t. We entrusted her with our secret.” Brienne said, wishing all she had to do to earn everyone’s cooperation was to flash a few teeth and dimples.

“Oh my, yes, Lady Brienne! Mum’s the word! Besides, if there’s a royal baby on the way, if you’ll pardon my saying, your wedding plans’ll be small tubers in comparison.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Jaime muttered.

“I’ll keep listening for more information then, shall I, Lord Tyrion?”

“Yes, Jenna. Thank you.”

After she’d left, they ate in silence, Brienne mulling over the sting of Jaime’s possessiveness and lack of faith. Being treated like a woman not competent to choose her own clothes, much less train a dragon without supervision, was a disturbing. Not since their earliest acquaintance had Jaime doubted her abilities. 

She looked at Jaime from the corner of her eye; he was just finishing up his food, scowling at the last bits of egg like they’d personally affronted him. Would marrying him mean he’d believe he was in charge of her? Would he end up treating her like she was somehow his property?

Brienne glanced at Tyrion to see what his mood was. He’d finished his food and was tipping his empty wine goblet between his stubby fingers, looking like he’d forgotten she and Jaime were there. 

“Tyrion, did you manage to find any good information in the dungeons on how Visenya and rode her dragon?”

Tyrion looked up at her, then set his goblet down and pushed it away.

“Only a couple of fanciful paintings and tapestries have been found. I don’t think any of the artists had ever seen a dragon in flight. The dragons looked wrong, and the riders seemed to be hanging on by force of will. From what Dany told me it isn’t that easy. You know she’s never tried riding again; I think it scared her half to death when Drogon took off with her.”

“But they did use saddles in battle, didn’t they?”

“I believe they did. I hear there’s an ancient one somewhere down in the catacombs. I have some people looking for it. If I were you, I’d start designing a new one rather than waiting. If we find an old one there’s no telling if it’ll be useful even as an example.”

“I’m surprised anything like that would have survived at all. I’ll want to see it, if it’s found. Do you know if the dragons have flown since the snows came?”

“I don’t think they have,” Tyrion said, “or if they did, it wasn’t far. How soon do you think until you take Viserion up?”

Jaime looked over sharply, suddenly more interested in their conversation than in sulking.

“I won’t know until I see how long it takes him to trust me. Certainly not before I figure out some kind of saddle and possibly a bridle. Maybe a sennight, if things go very well.”

“A sennight?” Jaime said, “Surely not that soon…”

Brienne and Tyrion both gave him a quelling look and he subsided, though Brienne could tell she’d not heard his final word on it.

“How long will you be gone, Tyrion?” Brienne asked.

“I hardly know,” Tyrion said with a longing look at his empty goblet, “I’ll try to send a raven when I know. I’d like to be there when you fly Viserion.”

“Am I expected to inform the queen before my first flight?”

“I think she’d like to be there, too.”

“Officially?”

“Officially, she hasn’t said.”

“All right,” Brienne said, “I think it’s time I got started. Good luck with Tysha, Tyrion.” 

She stood and so did the men.

“Good luck, Brienne. If Viserion has any sense at all he’ll do anything you ask while you’re wearing those breeches.” 

Brienne laughed, accepting the jest 

“And so should Jaime.” He added, a smile touching his eyes, “And now I must make my farewells to the queen and go face my past. Please the gods, I know not what I’m about to face.”

Jaime walked around the table and squatted to hug his brother, “Be well. Send a raven if you need us. The dragon can always wait.”

Brienne nodded in agreement. Jaime held out his hand for hers, and with a final look at the queen and Cersei, she took it. Jaime used his grip to pull her close enough to get his right arm around her waist and kiss her. Resistant at first, Brienne was soon drawn in by his passion and moved into his arms, their fight nearly forgotten. 

A burst of applause a few tables away startled her, and she jumped back. Jaime gave the young men at the table a cutting smile and pulled her back to his side. Brienne glanced back at the queen’s table and saw Daenerys whispering to Cersei, a knowing smile on her lips. 

“Why did you do that?” She asked Jaime as they walked the length of the hall. 

“Kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to. Don’t tell me I’m not allowed to do that, either.” 

“I’m not well pleased with you right now, Jaime.”

“Because I want to protect you?”

“Because you don’t understand that I can protect myself.”

“I know you can protect yourself from most things, Brienne. For a long time now we’ve protected each other. It’s kept us both alive, but you’ve never done this before, _we’ve_ never done this…” he said, pulling open the door into the yard. 

The wind roared around them, kicking up so much snow they could barely see the stables. They pulled their cloaks close and trudged through the yard. Brienne had to pull hard to open the stable door, a violent gust nearly ripping it from her hands.

Inside, the sound of the storm was muffled and the light cast by the oil lamps was oddly cheerless. Even the chickens seemed subdued as they scratched and plocked and exclaimed with each new gust that shook the building. Jaime motioned to a couple of grooms idly playing dice together, and they got up guiltily to fetch Sean and Fluffy’s saddles and carry them back to their stalls. The stable dogs, unwilling to be left alone, skulked along behind them.

Every horse they passed seemed uneasy, with several pacing in their stalls, stamping their feet and muttering among themselves with soft _hur hur hurs_.

Brienne hurried to Sean. He was surprisingly calm, as was Ser Fluffy. She turned to Jaime, eyes wide, “Why aren’t they bothered by whatever it is too?”

“It must be something they’re used to,” he said, his voice tight, “something the other horses have never sensed before.”

“Something from the North.”

Jaime nodded, “There must be some evil on the wind. Something to do with the Others.”

“Do you think they’re closer? Making their way further south?”

“I hope not; that could mean our troops are failing.  The Walker’s power could be getting stronger, spreading their influence over a wider area.”

“We’d better send a message to the Queen then, telling her that any dead in the city or keep are to be burned immediately from now on. Just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, thank you so much for sticking with me after such a delay in updates. 
> 
> As ever, I owe fervent thanks and biscuits to Sandwichesyumyum for her friendship and support, and her willingness to read and wear her fangirl face for my benefit. Perhaps her squirrel face is even more precious to me because I do try often to inspire it.
> 
> Thank you also to my mom, who puts up with me sending her stuff to read and then calling and making her listen to me read it out loud as well. 
> 
> Wear your hoods, girls; you never know what the weather will entail. They retract, you know.


	33. Govak jeshoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne ride to the Dragon Pit through the worst storm to hit King's Landing in recent memory as Winter moves further South.
> 
>  
> 
> No, you're not dreaming. This is an update on Taking the Silver after a nearly two year hiatus!

"It could just be the storm that's making the animals uneasy." Brienne said, watching the stable hand adjust her horse's saddle. She gestured the lad aside and checked the cinch, then butted Sean's ribs with her shoulder. The horse whuffed out a breath and she yanked the strap up, retied it, and walked over to check Ser Fluffy Tail's saddle.

"Possibly," Jaime allowed, "But it's better if folk get used to taking precautions now. The war will be here sooner than the Queen suspects. While she's been decorating her castle the threat grows, and we've had no word from the North since we arrived."

Brienne nodded, considering, "Even if they've sent ravens I doubt they would survive such a trip. Flying between here and Tarth is nothing compared to coming overland from the Wall." 

Jaime worried that the silence from the troops they'd left behind had nothing to do with lost ravens. The few precious days they'd had together here had distracted them from the grim possibility that there might be no one left to send word or beg for the help so long delayed. Much as he disliked being forced to train the Queen's unruly dragons, the beasts should have joined the battle long ago.

He took Fluffy's reins from the nervous groom holding them. "Go to the Queen. Tell her that from now on, the dead are to be burned immediately."

"The dead, Ser?" The man's eyes widened and he looked around as though expecting to see corpses lying in the aisles. 

Jaime bit down his impatience. "Anyone who dies, or has recently died, their bodies must be given to the flames. She's a Targaryen; she'll know what to do. All of the Red Keep, King's Landing and beyond, the dead must be turned to ash lest they rise again. Tell Queen Daenerys to send riders to tell folk beyond the gates to come to King's Landing, if they hope to survive." His hand closed over the man's thin shoulder, giving him a little shake, "Tell her that Ser Jaime and Brienne of Tarth request these actions, and by the gods, may she listen."

"Both of you, go now." Brienne said as the second groom backed away, looking as though he might bolt. "Tell her to burn the heads, too."

"The – the heads?" 

"The ones spiked outside Maegor's Keep. You don't want them pulling themselves along the ground to the stables using only their teeth, do you?" She grinned and clacked her own large teeth together; both grooms shrunk back in fear.

"Go!" Jaime roared, and they fled, one of them sliding on the slush they'd tracked in and almost going down as he tuned the corner. Jaime chuckled. "You might have made the skinny one wet himself."

"If that scared them they'd have no hope at all against a wight." Brienne gave Jaime a wan smile, "I almost feel sorry for them."

"Save your pity for those outside the walls, Wench. If the Walkers are coming they won't survive."

"I'll save my pity for our troops in the North. Do you think they've perished?"

Jaime brushed her with his shoulder as he led Fluffy past. "I hope not, Brienne. We've got unpleasant work to do, if we want to make their sacrifice mean anything at all."

She followed with Sean. The clomp of hooves in sodden straw was solemn and steady compared to the way Jaime's heart beat, erratic with fear and excitement. He stopped, stepping aside to let Brienne push the big wooden doors out against the steady wind. The stable dogs backed, cowering beneath the tack-covered table, backs hunched as the snow swirled in and the torches flickered and smoked.

Brienne led Sean out and held the door for him and Fluffy to follow, letting it slam shut as an icy gust hit it like a battering ram. They'd not been in the stable long, but already the daylight had changed, becoming the oddly murky, greenish glow of fading afternoon they knew too well. 

A storm was coming such as King's Landing hadn't seen in decades.

They mounted their horses and Brienne raised her head, sniffing the air. "Not as bad as some," she decided, "But enough to test them sorely, ere it's done. We'd best get to shelter soon, and may the gods be with Tyrion, on his journey. Should we send word for him to delay his meeting with Tysha?"

"He wouldn't heed it, anyway." Jaime put heels to his mount and the horses headed out of the big gates. "Besides, the gods look out for drunks and fools, and this morning he was both."

"True. We're better off worrying about getting out of it ourselves. I hope there's a fire in the hearth when we get to the Dragon Pit. We'll want to warm up before we begin working with them."

"With _him_ , Brienne. Again: just the one dragon. And I doubt you'll be doing much with Viserion today, when you can barely see your hand in front of your face." Jaime urged his horse closer to Brienne's, their thighs jostling together as they descended Aegon's Hill. 

"No one has been up or down this road today," Brienne said, raising her voice to be heard, though Jaime was right next to her. "I see no tracks, no sign of passage at all." She turned to look at him, feathery flakes of snow clinging to her brows and lashes. 

"That can't be right. This path is always cleared just after daybreak for couriers and tradesmen. Has everyone decided to hide indoors?" Jaime swiped at his eyes, trying to dry wind-drawn tears before the water could freeze them on his face, wishing they, too, had the luxury of walls and ceiling to keep the stinging snow at bay. 

Lifting his eyes from the trail, Jaime looked down at King's Landing, expecting white roofs and sooty chimneys in their thousands, the network of roads clogged with carts and foot traffic. All was whistling wind and emptiness. Flea Bottom, Visenya's Hill, the Great Sept of Baelor, the Street of Silver with its forges glowing hot; all had vanished under a veil of white. 

"Eerie, isn't it?" Brienne said, startling him. 

For a dizzying moment he'd felt out of time and place. "It looks like the end of the world," Jaime said. They might have been in the far north, waiting for something nightmarish to appear out of nothing. "It's as though winter came for a hundred, hundred years and never left."

"Winter comes and winter goes, Jaime. Whatever becomes of us, spring has always followed winter. Even the Long Night only lasted twenty or thirty years."

" _Only_? Imagine being born into darkness and growing to adulthood without ever knowing how the sun feels on your skin."

"Spring must have seemed like a myth to them, no more than a greybeard's tale: 'spring is coming.'" Brienne sighed, "So many died without ever seeing it. The Long Night lasted a lifetime for them."

"If this winter should wear on for a generation or more there won't be much left to fight for. King's Landing would be nothing more than a memory." Jaime said. 

They road quietly for a several minutes. To the east lay Blackwater Bay, a dark smudge beneath the blowing snow, insubstantial but undeniably there. 

Three quarters of the way down Aegon's Hill the houses and streets of the city appeared, leached of color but solid and familiar. They skirted the edges of the city, staying close to the wall. 

The few folk they saw were scurrying about ghostlike in cloaks dusted with dull white flakes. Paths worn by foot and wheel were dirty and packed down hard. It was slippery going, and when Ser Fluffy spooked, his black hooves skittering on the ice, Jaime assumed he'd lost his footing. 

Then he saw what had spooked the horse.

There were seven of them. Four men, a boy, and two women, hanging from the worn lintel of a tavern known by the dubious name of The Fancy Flea, The scantily clad flea-lady of its sign gaudy even in the weak light. The corpses swung in the wind, the ropes making the wood they were tied to creak in protest. 

Brienne gasped, "Jaime, they're each missing a hand."

Jaime had already noticed and urged Fluffy closer. "Criminals, maimed for stealing. But why hang them, too?"

"I don't know. See there – the beardless man and the boy? Their bodies are still rigid. They were killed recently." 

"But their hands – their stumps – aren't new. No fresh blood on any of them, and the old woman's stump healed years ago; there's no puckering, no sign she ever had a hand. _You there_!" Jaime called to a stout man just coming out of the tavern, shoulders already hunched against the storm and a voluminous cloak pulled close.

Startled, the man turned, nearly bumping into the line of corpses, then moved away, shuffling though the sludge as fast as his rag-wrapped feet could take him. Jaime hailed him again in his best tone of command, but the man ducked into an alley and disappeared.

"That was odd," Brienne said. "Did he seem frightened to you?"

"He did. Jumpy as a Greyjoy in the desert. You'd think we were going to eat him."

"Or hang him. I'd be nervous too, with the swaying seven here." Brienne urged Sean closer to the building's entrance.

Jaime saw what she was about and brought Fluffy around the other side of the bodies on the lintel to block the other exit. They hadn't long to wait before the door opened and a lanky teenager slouched out. He looked from Brienne to Jaime to the corpses he'd need to push through to escape, and decided to stay where he was.

Jaime was about to speak when Brienne raised a finger to quiet him. "We'd like to ask you some questions," she said, and Jaime smiled at the way her voice softened to calm the boy. "Will you talk to us?" Staring sullenly at the ground, he nodded. "Why were these people hung?"

"Thieving, m'lady. City Watch did 'em."

"The penalty for theft is the loss of a hand. How is it that all seven of them were already missing one?"

"Second time," the teen said. His nose had started to run, and his cloak was thinner and likely older than he was. "Watch brought 'em. Said with times gettin' worse they'd make a 'zample of known thieves. Anyone already missing a hand." He finally raised his pockmarked face to stare at Brienne, then Jaime. "Or missing both hands an' a foot, but they's not as easy to find."

Jaime flipped him a coin and moved Fluffy back to let him depart. The lad hurried past, keeping his eyes down. "'Times getting worse.'" he repeated, "And they're not even in the thick of it yet, this far south." He wheeled Fluffy around and started back along the road to the Dragon Pit.

Brienne fell in beside him. "Hadn't we better tell the innkeep to burn those bodies?"

"There are bound to be others. King's Landing is full of thieves; there are enough to hang a few from every public house in Flea Bottom." 

"That's dreadful. The ones back there, Jaime, I'm not even certain they were thieves. Oh, maybe one or two, but just as likely to have lost a hand in an accident."

Jaime held up his stump. "Might as well hang _me_."

"As if they could." Brienne sniffed. "But the small folk –"

"Haven't got Brienne of Tarth to keep them alive?" 

"Well, no. They haven't. Do you think Daenerys ordered the city watch to do this?"

"I doubt the queen knows much about what goes on down here." Jaime guided Fluffy around a windblown branch jutting out of the snow. "Probably just an overzealous Watch captain trying to curry favor with his commander." 

"Jaime, we should tell her. We need to tell her."

"Are we really doing them any favors, though? How many people do you think would survive another Long Night with only one hand? Not many are as fortunate as me, Brienne." He looked back at her, shrugged, "We'll send a message to the queen and hope she acts on it without Tyrion there to prod her." 

"You give little credit to her." Brienne said, "She's accomplished much, for a young woman. She's –"

"You've accomplished far more, Brienne."

" _You_ are prejudiced. I am four years older, and I'm not ruling seven kingdoms."

"Neither is she." They turned onto the road that would lead them to the Dragon Pit. "I'm sorry. The woman does little more than create problems that others must make right.  She should be the one training her dragons. Not you." Jaime looked at Brienne. 

Snowflakes clung to her lashes and brows, to the hood of her cloak. Her jaw was clenched, eyes flashing with anger. "This again, Jaime?" She turned Sean sharply up the path to the cottage and rode ahead of him. 

Jaime kicked Fluffy into a canter, coming up quickly on her right and cutting in front of her mount. She made to move around him but he grabbed Sean's reins. The horse jerked his head up, rolling his eyes in confusion. 

"Yes, this again." Jaime rasped out, "Is there some reason we can no longer look out for each other as we always have? I'm no more protective of you now than I was when you were my second in command. So tell me, Brienne, is there something about being betrothed to me that makes you want to change that? Should I care _less_ for your safety than I always have?"

"You needn't hold Sean's reins, Ser," She glowered at him, "I am not going anywhere."

Jaime dropped them and picked his own reins up again, not moving out of her way. "I don't want us to be at odds, Wench. We've never faced anything like this before; had I been the one recruited by the queen you'd behave the same."

"How so? Are you suggesting that I would ask _you_ not to train the dragons that we desperately need?"

"No, you wouldn't have, and neither have I. You would have insisted on being involved, and tried to disguise your worry for me by discussing tactics." Jaime brushed impatiently at the snow crusting his beard, "The only difference is that now I am framing my misgivings as someone who loves you."

Brienne's expression softened, but she didn't back down. "Only because you're not my commander anymore, Jaime. It doesn't feel right when you attempt to dissuade me from doing what needs to be done. I almost feel like your respect for my competence has lessened since…well, since you decided you wanted me as more than someone to fight by your side."

"In that case I have been disrespecting you for years. We have fought side by side so long that folk barely know us apart. But before that, Brienne, what do you call all those nights we've slept curled together like a couple of stable cats? The meals we've eaten from the same dish, sitting so close that one cloak could cover us both?"

"Convenience?" She smiled. If he didn't know better, Jaime would think she was being coy.

"Convenient." He agreed. "Just like it was all the times we kissed."

"Those were," the corners of her lips turned down as she fought her smile, "an accident."

"Is that so?" 

"Somehow your lips just found mine, I think. You were drunk, stumbled a little too close…" 

"Wench, you kissed me first." 

" _I_ probably stumbled. When I was drunk." Brienne looked down, petted her horse's wet mane. There was a pretty flush to go with her small smile. "And _you_ took advantage."

"Maybe I did. Also the second time you did it. For a woman who swore she only liked watered wine, it didn't take long for you to take a liking to what was in my flask."

"Yes, it was definitely what was in your flask."

"And did I take advantage by kissing you back that second time? Do you remember?"

"No, not really," Brienne admitted, "I had no idea how much alcohol was too much, back then. Did I do something stupid?"

"If you call kissing me to within an inch of my restraint stupid, then yes. Me, I'd call it something else entirely. I had to escort you to bed and then lay beside you, Wench."

She grinned, "Was it torture?"

"Oh yes." 

She'd been clumsy but so eager, the second time she'd gotten drunk enough to kiss him. They'd had their small campsite away from the common soldiers, back before the Walkers were a nightly threat. That first tentative touch of her lips on his had been much like the first time, not a week before. 

He'd eagerly returned that second kiss, daring to tangle his cold fingers in her matted hair as he did so. Her mouth had been firm but unyielding under his, and when they drew apart moments later they'd both been dazed as anyone unexpectedly getting their heart's desire would be. 

Brienne's eyes had been almost black in the firelight, her lips already damp when she licked them nervously and mumbled a question which might have been 'was that right?' 

Jaime recalled telling her that he wasn't sure, that she should maybe kiss him again, just to be certain. 

With all the seriousness and sincerity that oftimes emboldens drunks and lovers, she had; her sweet, earnest kisses soon softening as she responded to his passionate ones. 

The rough log beneath their bums might have been a feather bed for all Jaime noticed, the ragged edge of frustrated need for her ignited by those early, barely unchaste touches. It was a favorite memory of his, one he'd brought out over the years when something bright and hopeful was needful to distract him from darkness and fear.

"I'm not questioning your competence to do anything you set yourself to do, Wench, and I've never forbidden you to face danger."

"What about the time I wanted to take a group of the men and explore the catacombs we found hidden near the bogs?"

"That was a suicide mission. I gave you orders to stay away from them, as was my responsibility as your commander."

Brienne grinned at him. "You wanted to send Ser Hunt instead. Alone." 

"As I said: a suicide mission." 

"So you'd risk him, one of your underlings, but not me?"

"Not much of a risk, really."

"Those passageways collapsed the next afternoon," she pointed out.

"And had I sent Hunt he'd have been squished beyond use even as a wight."

"How was that not much of a risk?"

"It was Hyle Hunt, my lady. Half the camp would have cheered. Shame you talked me out of sending him." Jaime smirked at her, "But you admitted that no one should explore them after we talked about the dangers. Allow me the courtesy now of voicing my misgivings, even though you are not mine to command." He turned his horse back onto the track leading to the Pit and Sean followed.

"Are you sure you can handle this, Jaime? Perhaps you're as jealous of Viserion as you were of Hyle." 

"Jealous? Of Ser Cunt?" Jaime huffed, glad she didn't know about the time he'd cornered Tormund and advised him to stop leering at her or else. 

"See?"

"I am not jealous of Viserion, sweetling, and I'd as soon be jealous of that hedge knight as I would an actual hedge."

They were both chuckling when they entered the courtyard through an open gate, Jaime hailing Hemikh as he appeared from the stable. The big Dothraki was made mountainous wrapped in a cloak that looked to be stitched together from the coat of a winter aurochs.  He shivered as a blast of wind swept in from the north.

"Not quite the Dothraki Sea, is it?" Jaime remarked as he and Brienne dismounted. 

Hemikh responded in his own tongue, a string of rough words that Jaime knew few of. " _Govak jeshoy_!" The warrior concluded, grasping Jaime's forearm in greeting.

"Fucking… _jesh_ …?" Jaime looked to Brienne, now engulfed in Hemikh's embrace.

" _Govak jeshoy_.' Fucking freezing,'" she explained. "He said, 'curse this evil wind and the snow it brings; I am fucking freezing."

Hemikh released her, nodding and smiling at her translation. He scooped up the reins to both horses and waved at the cottage. "Lavakhat goes inside to light the fire. Warmth, rest before riding dragons."

"I won't be _riding_ any dragons today, _okeo anni_. Only working with Viserion. I'll go see him straight away. They haven't been fed?"

"We waited to feed, as you asked."

"Brienne, I think we should go inside and thaw ourselves by the fire first, as we'd planned." Jaime told her. 

"We lost some time when we stopped at the tavern, and there'd be no such respite up north, Ser.  Freezing or not we wouldn't be able to slow down and rest."

"We've got plenty of time to be miserable and tireless when we go back. Right now you need your strength and wits about you to work with Viserion for the first time."

Brienne looked a question at him, deciding he might be in the right when another icy blast whipped her cloak back from her shoulders. "We'll go out to the pen in a few minutes," She addressed Hemikh, "We brought clothes in our saddlebags, if one of you would bring them in? I don't think we'll be going back to the Keep tonight."

Hemikh nodded and led the horses into the warmth of the stable. Lavakhat appeared from the house and walked toward them, only his braid whipping out behind him and the flap of his breechclout to show that the weather touched him at all. 

After they'd exchanged greetings and discussed plans for feeding the dragons, the younger Dothraki also retreated to the stables. Jaime and Brienne waded through the snow to the door of the cottage and went inside, stamping their boots on a small rug made from woven grass.

Melted snow had puddled around the mat, and muddy tracks showed everywhere the Dothraki had trod.

"It's almost like he was raised in a barn," Jaime joked.

"Or out on the plains. To be fair, it is difficult to get all of the snow off your boots and clothes with it coming down so thick outside." Brienne walked over to the fire and dropped into one of the big chairs with a groan. "Say what you like about his house manners, the lad knows how to build a fire. Is that steam rising from my cloak?"

"I believe it is, sweetling. If you stand up I can hang it somewhere to dry." Jaime nudged her booted toe with his own, and she let her head loll back, gazing up at him with half-closed eyes, deliberately stretching her legs out and slumping further into the chair. "Or you could just sit there and make the chair damp as well, Wench. Me, I'd rather not feel like a wad of wet laundry while I'm trying to relax."

"I'm not going to sit here for long anyway," Brienne sighed, "Just long enough to warm up, and –" she yawned, long and deep, the bridge of her nose squinching up and lips pulling back from her teeth like a growling hrakkar. "Gods, I'm sleepy all of a sudden. How late were we up last night, anyway?"

"Late." Jaime swung his cloak off his shoulders and spread it over one of the chairs. "No one would fault you for taking a nap, you know." He sat in the chair closest to hers and toed his boots off. The warmth on his chilly socks spread up his legs and through him.

" _I_ would. We don't have much daylight left, an hour and a half at most." Brienne unfolded herself to stand and Jaime stirred, ready to go outside if she insisted. Fortunately she was only laying her cloak out on the floor. "I smell mulled wine. Would you like some?"

"I can get it," he said, "you rest."

Brienne was already moving. "I'm up, and you were awake before I was this morning." The sound of cupboards being opened and closed and earthenware being set on a counter carried from the kitchen. "How did we ever survive up north?" she mused. "Here we are, living beneath a roof, sleeping on soft beds –"

"You forget my time in the dungeons," he called, "Where the only thing soft was the rat turds heaped everywhere."

Brienne carried the wine out and handed him one. "You'd have slept on them happily up north, if they could keep you warm. But I meant that we've had a life of relative ease here, and I worry that we're getting too used to it. Imagine getting so much sleep on campaign and then complaining about it." She sat down carefully with her brimming mug while Jaime rolled his head to look at her. 

"Think of it as hibernating. Gathering strength." Jaime sat up and blew on his wine before taking a cautious sip. It was redolent with cinnamon and cloves, and more than a little rum. "Gods, can we get some of this to take back with us?"

"We'd have to bring enough with us to share. So, no." She took a long sip, fingers curled around the mug for warmth. 

Jaime thought she looked unusually young, her cheeks rounded and the darkness beneath her eyes gone, despite her sleepiness. He was used to seeing her haggard, thin and mal-nourished. Seemingly even the poor fare of Daenerys dining hall had been good for her.

"Why are you staring at me, Jaime?" She asked after a while, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

"Was I staring?"

"You know you were." She got up and took her cup to the kitchen, looked out the small window there. "I think it's gotten worse. We should go out."

"We could stay in." Jaime drained his mug and smacked his lips. "Is there more of this?"

"Yes. _I'm_ going out." She picked her cloak up from the floor and swung it around her shoulders. The snow had melted and dark patches streaked down from hood to hips. 

Jaime heaved himself out of the chair, leaving his mug on the table. Brienne helped settle his damp cloak over his shoulders. "I'll let the lads know it's dinner time for dragons," he said, "Meet you at the cages."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to sincerely thank everyone that has continued to comment on and mention this story in hopes that it would continue. Life took several turns for the worse (divorce, health things, the loss of many pets) and then for the better (divorce *yay*, getting a new home) in the two years since I stopped writing it. I am in a much, much better place in my life, and look forward to continuing this story. I'm not looking for sympathy or congrats on all that - I'd rather concentrate on your impressions of the chapter. 
> 
> The next chapter will actually have the dragons present as the first steps to training begin.
> 
> Also - I could really use an advance reader for the next chapter, someone that has read the story recently to help ferret out inconsistencies to what went before. Taking volunteers. :-)
> 
> As ever, your comments are what keeps the story going, and I appreciate each and every one, no matter the length.


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